Paths of Peril
by Adara of Middle Earth
Summary: The story of the Fellowship told primarily from Boromir's POV. Delves into the strained relationship between Gondor's future Steward and its future King. Snappy banter between Gimli & Legolas.
1. Prologue

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

This is the sequel to _Love and Lust -- A Dynasty Broken_. It is not necessary to have read the first book to enjoy _Paths of Peril_, but it would be helpful. Here is a quick synopsis to get you ready to read Book II.

In my first A/U story, also available on this web site, Boromir becomes betrothed to the Princess of Rohan, who is named Eledwhen. She is raped shortly before the marriage takes place and flees Minas Tirith. Boromir tracks Eledwhen, learns of the rape, and decides to take her with him to Imladris. Unfortunately, Boromir is seriously injured during an attack by brigands and almost dies. The Elf Haldir, who stumbles upon them during the attack, takes the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor and the Princess of Rohan to Lothlorien. While in the Golden Wood, the two pledge themselves to each other for eternity. This entire story is based on Tolkien's early writings, where he included a daughter for Theoden King and planned a marital alliance between Rohan and Gondor.

This book, _Paths of Peril_, begins in the Golden Wood as Boromir resumes his interrupted journey to the city of Imladris. The story explains some things that happened during the first book, as well as delves into the strained relationship between the Man of Gondor and the other members of the Fellowship, particularly Aragorn. This story revolves around Boromir and his feelings and actions. This is the way I wish Tolkien's _Fellowship_ had been written, since I am fond of Boromir. I hope you take the time to read _Love and Lust_, if you haven't already.

Adara's standard disclaimer: I don't own these characters (except Eledwhen) and am not making any money off of them. Wouldn't do anyone any good to sue me anyway, since the only thing I own of value is my horse, Dylan. He's a good horse, but you wouldn't make much money from his sale. Thanks to Tolkien for his wonderful imagination. 

Prologue

Two figures stood silhouetted against ancient mallorn trees arrayed in leaves of fallow gold. Dainty yellow-blossomed flowers littered the carpet of lush grass about their feet, and the noon sun blessed them with its warmth. The taller of the two closed the small space that separated them, gathering the other into strong arms clad in gleaming chain mail. This figure obviously was male and a warrior. A full-length gray cloak, its hood completely concealing the identity of the wearer, covered the smaller figure. 

"Do you know how much I love you?" The man's voice was rough with barely controlled emotion. The other nodded in answer and remained silent.

Boromir, son of Denethor, fought back bitter tears as he bent to kiss the soft lips of the young woman who stood, trembling, in his arms. Her lips were warm and slightly salty, washed by the tears that trickled from her eyes.

"I do not want to say goodbye," she whispered, the dulcet tones sending shivers through him. "Please, let me go with you to Imladris. I will not be a burden to you. I feel my heart will break if you leave me behind."

Boromir tilted his head back and let the sun's warmth bathe his fair face. His lips were pursed tightly together and his eyebrows nearly met in the center of his forehead as his face betrayed the pain he was feeling. "I cannot take you with me. This already has been decided. It is too dangerous for you, especially now that you carry my child. I will not risk either of you."

The Princess of Rohan sighed softly and lowered her head. She knew he spoke the truth, but the parting was no less painful for the knowledge. Without conscious thought, she placed her hands lightly upon her belly, where their child grew. Her thoughts turned to that night, two weeks before, when she and the Lord Boromir had pledged themselves to one another for eternity. That night's physical union had been both frightening and wonderful. To Boromir's credit, he had halted his lovemaking each time she struggled against painful memories of her rape in Minas Tirith and the near rape by the Uruk captain. 

Her beloved's empathy had been a surprise, for she never believed the fierce warrior capable of such tenderness or depth of understanding. That night, as Boromir had lain beside her, spent from their lovemaking, Eledwhen had known instinctively that she had conceived.

"Must you leave now? Could your journey not wait just one more day, or even one more hour?" Eledwhen's voice quavered with the sadness of their parting and the fear of what he might encounter as he continued his quest to save the land he so desperately loved.

"Please, Eledwhen, do not ask me to turn from my duty. I am not made of stone. Should I gaze upon your exquisite face much longer, my resolve to depart today will dissolve into the very air we breathe. I must leave. Be brave and trust that I shall return." Once more Boromir enveloped his Lady within his arms and pressed her tightly against his body. Wordlessly he made a plaintive plea to the Valar that they could remain thus for the rest of their lives.

Eledwhen's light touch along the flesh of his neck scattered his thoughts. He moved slightly backward and looked down into her upturned face. Her deep blue eyes shone brightly with tears, but her full lips were pulled into a wide and mischievous smile. "You have become quite the wanton woman," he said playfully, easily recognizing the look of desire. "And one certainly full of surprises. My fears you would never be comfortable in my bed were all for naught. Perhaps there is magic in this land." 

Eledwhen looked at him demurely from beneath thick lashes. The son she knew she carried was tangible testimony to the magic within the Elven kingdom. "Truly, love conquers all, my Lord." Wrapping one arm about his neck, she pulled him to her until their lips met. As their kiss deepened and their passion blossomed, the two lovers fell as one onto the soft carpet of grass. "I suppose I could put off my journey a little while longer," Boromir said, chuckling, as he pulled Eledwhen on top of him.

* * * * * * * * *

The sun was beginning to set when Gondor's Captain-General waved a gauntleted hand in farewell and urged his horse, Arod, into a canter. In less than an hour, Boromir crossed the land's northernmost border. Although he had seen no Elves, he'd felt their presence all about him. Reining Arod up short, he turned back toward the South and took a long, last look at Lothlorien. His heart was heavy, weighed down by the grief he felt at leaving his wife and child behind.

Though a proud man, of a line of many proud Stewards, Boromir knew that Eledwhen would be safer with her grandparents than in the wilds of Middle-earth. His inability to protect the Princess when she had been attacked during their arduous journey had been a humbling experience. Never one to question his strength or his battle abilities, he had been plagued by doubts during his convalescence with the Elves. One thing of which he _was_ certain, if he did not shake off these doubts he would have little chance of surviving the long journey ahead.

Boromir sighed despondently and turned Arod toward Caradhras, where he hoped to successfully cross the Redhorn Pass. The Lord Celeborn had been kind enough to give him a map showing the quickest way to Imladris, where Boromir hoped to discover answers to a riddle about a sword that was broken and a ring. As the Golden Wood faded in the distance, Boromir wondered where his younger sibling was and what he might be doing. _I hope Faramir is not alone and facing as impossible a task as this, _he thought sadly.

****

To be continued 


	2. On the Road Again

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

A pall settled over Boromir, as man and beast put many miles between themselves and the Golden Wood. His heart was heavy despite the joyful afternoon spent making love to Eledwhen. Although he called the Princess of Rohan his wife, she was not legally his, at least, according to the laws of Gondor. _Those cursed Elves and their bloody stubbornness_, he thought glumly. _By _w_hat right do they interfere in our lives? Mortal law has betrothed Eledwhen to me and, even were that not true, we have bound ourselves to each other, body and soul. _

Neither Boromir nor Eledwhen had been able to convince the Lord and Lady of the Galadrim to perform the marriage ceremony. The Elves were rigidly polite, but firm. Even the lovers' admission of their physical union did naught to sway their decision. Boromir wanted to tell them about the unborn child, hoping to force their cooperation, but Eledwhen had begged him not to. "There will be plenty of time while you are gone for my grandparents to accept you as a future kinsman. If you anger them now, we shall have no hope of convincing them that we belong together."

Boromir smiled, remembering how angry Celeborn and Galadriel had been once they realized that the Man had checkmated them. It had been impossible to hide the fact that Eledwhen spent every night in his room after their exchange of vows. The confrontation with the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood had been every bit as volatile as expected, although no Elven archers had appeared to execute him. However, the Lord Celeborn _had_ taken him aside and chided him for his "ungentlemanly" behavior.

"It was not fair or sporting of you to take Eledwhen to your bed when you have not been officially wed," he had said gravely. But Boromir had merely laughed and replied, "All's fair in love and war, my Lord Elf. You should know this better than I, for you have lived time uncounted. You are angry because I outmaneuvered you; it irks you that a mere mortal could do so."

Boromir was jerked from his reverie by a loud neigh from Arod. The horse shied and sidestepped nervously, casting uneasy looks at the trees to their right. Boromir became immediately alert and unsheathed his great sword. "Easy, boy, easy. What do you smell?"

In answer to his question, a red hind emerged from the trees and ran swiftly in front of the gray stallion. Arod snorted and reared, causing his rider to curse and grip the saddle pommel to keep his seat. Boromir strained to determine what had caused the hind's flight, but heard nothing. Nor could he see more than a foot past the treeline, for it was dusk and night was rapidly approaching. 

Deciding that caution was the better part of valor in this instance, Boromir spurred Arod into a gallop, hoping to put as much distance between them and whatever had spooked the deer. As Arod sped forward, two pinpoints of yellow light glowed between the trees where the hind had emerged. 

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir managed to find his way across the Redhorn Pass without incident. Born beneath the shadow of the White Mountains, he had more than a passing acquaintance with journeys in high places. The central regions of the Misty Mountains were bitterly cold, and the snow left him wet and miserable. By day, he and Arod plodded their way along the narrow pass, careful not to stray too close to the sheer naked sides and the steep drop-off beyond. The reddish color that splashed across the mountains reminded him of blood. At night, Boromir burned some of the faggots of wood he had brought to ward off the cold and any animals that might prowl the pass. He was worried about wolf packs that hunted the pass, fierce animals that were ever vigilant for weary and unwary travelers.

Once clear of the mountain's shadow, Gondor's son turned north toward the Elven haven many leagues away. He checked the map Celeborn had made for him and knew he would soon enter Hollin, the lost land of Eregion. He had become weary of sitting in the saddle 12 to 14 hours a day and of eating lembas, which had been provided by the Lady Galadriel, along with fresh fruit that had been consumed within the first few days. Arod had eaten most of the apples, but the man did not begrudge his mount such a simple pleasure. If not for the horse, Boromir would be afoot and his journey much longer and very unpleasant. 

Boromir knew he should be grateful for the supplies, considering that he and the Elven rulers were at odds over Eledwhen's future. Both Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn felt strongly that their granddaughter should remain with the Elves. And he had agreed, as far as the journey to Imladris was concerned. But he had threatened to spirit Eledwhen away secretly if they tried to stop her from returning to Minas Tirith with him. She was as necessary to his life as the air he breathed and he would not give her up. There had been several heated arguments on the subject before his departure from Lorien.

"At least Galadriel had enough self-control not to throw me off the highest flet in their house," Boromir said aloud, reaching forward to rub Arod's neck. Surprisingly, she had been fairly gracious at their parting; his mouth had fallen open in disbelief when she told him to take care during the dangerous journey ahead of him. He and Eledwhen had exchanged surprised glances before he managed to stammer a somewhat coherent reply. Eledwhen later surmised that her grandmother either knew, or suspected, that she was with child and was genuinely worried about its father's wellbeing.

"If that were true, she should have allowed us to undergo a formal wedding ceremony," Boromir said to Arod, a habit he had fallen into during solo trips to various garrisons throughout Gondor. "If I do not survive this journey, the child will have neither my name nor my inheritance. He, or she, will be a bastard. I must write Father and Faramir about our 'marriage' and the child as soon as I find a place where a messenger can be retained. Perhaps I can persuade them that such a bonding is legal under Elven law and should, therefore, be accepted as legal under Gondorian law."

Boromir sighed tiredly and scanned the land about him with an experienced traveler's eye. He was riding through a narrow meadow surrounded on both sides by gnarled trees so ugly and deformed that leaves refused to grow on their twisted branches. Though bereft of foliage, the trees still were so thick and close he could see nothing beyond. _Water must be scarce in this land_, he thought._ I hope my water rations last until I cross into Hollin. _

Arod moved his proud head back and forth as though agreeing with his master. Boromir laughed and stroked his mane. "Time to find a place to camp, old boy. It is late and far too dark for us to be stumbling about unknown country."

Boromir strained to see about him but was unable to do so because the quarter moon cast little light upon the surrounding landscape. "Blast, I wish I had one of those silver lanterns the Elves are so fond of." Arod snorted as though in agreement and Boromir started to laugh, but bit back the sound when he thought he heard an answering whinny. Arod began to fidget and toss his head up and down. He was clearly agitated. 

A warrior survives on instinct, skill and a generous measure of luck. Gondor's Captain-General had not lived to the age of 40 by being careless or by taking foolish risks. He jerked the shield from his back to fend off potential arrows while urging his stead toward a dense patch of trees that would offer a relatively secure place from which to launch a defense. As Arod started in the direction asked, Boromir clearly heard the sound of hooves pounding upon hard earth. They were close and gaining fast.

Quickly assessing the situation (knowing well that he could not hold his own against a strong mounted company), Boromir urged Arod to flee in the opposite direction. The stallion gathered himself up before surging forward at full gallop, while his rider crouched low over his neck to make himself less of a target. Boromir looked back briefly and caught a glimpse of several riders on black horses. Their dark cloaks and full hoods made it impossible to see who, or what, they were. 

As Arod made a dash for the cover of the trees, Boromir thought he heard whispers on the wind and a chill spread throughout his body. _Who the blazes are those riders?_ Not particularly wanting to find out, man and beast continued to careen through the trees at a breakneck speed. Brittle branches dried beyond endurance by lack of moisture snapped loudly and fell to the ground as the two flew by in the murky darkness.

Boromir risked a glance over his shoulder and suddenly felt his mount fall out from under him. It was as though he were being catapulted through the air, or flying without the aid of wings. Mindful of how he might land, or what he may crash into, Boromir moved his shield so that it protected his head. He felt his body plunging downward and prepared himself for a jolt. His last conscious thoughts before impacting the ground were of Eledwhen.

To be continued


	3. The Winds of War

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

This chapter returns the reader to Minas Tirith and the situation with Faramir and the Steward. In Book I, Love and Lust -- A Dynasty Broken, Denethor looked too long into the palantir and became ensnared by the Dark Lord. I shall continue to weave together events happening within the Fellowship and in Minas Tirith throughout this story.

The Winds of War

Faramir thought he heard his brother's voice crying out to him. He was standing in a narrow meadow surrounded on both sides by gnarled trees bereft of foliage, and so thick and close he could see nothing beyond. Then the sound again -- a sharp cry as though someone were in pain. Faramir rushed into the trees in search of the source of the noises. From somewhere to his right he heard his brother's voice calling his name over and over. 

"Boromir, where are you? It is I, Faramir. Where are you, Brother?" Frantic, Faramir rushed through the trees in the direction from which the sound emanated. A loud snarl and a responding yelp caused him to draw his sword and proceed cautiously. As Faramir parted the brittle branches in front of him, he saw two large feral shapes feasting upon something on the ground. One of the animals looked up sharply. Gore and blood dripped from its long snout. As he watched, horrified, the other furtively grabbed what looked to be a human arm and turned to flee. It was then that Faramir realized that the Wargs were feasting on a human. Enraged, he ran forward and the creatures melted into the dark beyond the trees. 

Faramir stood over what remained of the bloodied corpse and felt his gorge rise. He was looking upon the remains of what once had been his beloved brother. A keening wail escaped his bloodless lips and he fell to his knees. Boromir's blood soaked his breeches and stained his boots. "I should have been the one to make the journey, not you! How can Gondor survive without its Favorite Son? How can I ever tell Father?" As he wallowed in his misery, Faramir's vision began to fade and all about him was a darkness blacker than night.

* * * * * * * * *

Faramir awoke with a start. He felt nauseous and slightly disoriented, the way he often did following one of his visions. He knew he had dreamed, but could not recall the substance of the dream. However, he felt deep in his soul that his brother was in trouble. He closed his eyes and thought he heard Boromir's voice echoing dimly within the deep recesses of his mind. "Boromir," he whispered aloud. "Please be safe and unharmed."

Shaking his head to clear it, Faramir rose unsteadily from the chair beside his father's bed. It had been several weeks since Mithrandir had brought the Steward of Gondor from the summit of Ecthelion's Tower to the Houses of Healing. During those weeks, Denethor had been feverish, wafting back and forth between semi-consciousness and an uneasy sleep. The way his father cried out and cursed led Faramir to believe that Denethor still struggled against the Dark Lord, even though he was now far from the palantir. A slight scraping sound drew his attention toward the room's entrance. Adanomir, Denethor's personal physician, stood humbly in the doorway, waiting to be noticed.

"How fares he, my Lord Faramir?" Adanomir hesitated only a moment out of respect for Faramir's new station before moving to his patient's bedside. Denethor's youngest son had been acting Steward since that disastrous night when the ruler of Mordor enslaved Denethor's mind. Faramir still found it nigh impossible to believe that his father would succumb to the evil whisperings of the Dark Lord, despite evidence to the contrary.

"He is much the same," Faramir answered tiredly. "I sometimes feel that he will never recover." Adanomir studied him over round-shaped glasses perched atop the bridge of his long patrician nose and smiled kindly. 

"Do not give up hope. Your father is a strong man and will return to us when his mind has healed. I see slight improvements in his condition daily, though you may not. The young are only appeased by that which is easily seen."

Faramir frowned, bristling at the physician's words. A sharp retort formed on his tongue, but retreated when he saw Adanomir's tight smile and sparkling gray eyes. "Go and eat, and then take some rest," he advised. "I will stay with the Lord Denethor this night. You need to take better care of yourself. With your father ill and your brother gone, the people of the White City look to you for guidance. How will Minas Tirith thrive if none of the Steward's line remains at its helm?"

"I shall do as you suggest, for your words are wise," Faramir said, a fleeting smile touching his lips. "Send for me immediately should the Lord Denethor awake, or his condition change." 

* * * * * * * * * 

Faramir stood outside the main entrance to the Houses of Healing and drank in the clean night air. Men in the uniform of the City Guard saluted him smartly as they passed on their rounds. Some wished him a good night and added the title, Steward, which disturbed him. _I need to see Uncle Imrahil. Perhaps he can lift my spirits. _

His eyes scanned the narrow street that ran beside the wall of the gardens. Seeing nothing amiss, Faramir pulled his cloak tightly about him against the chill and began the walk to the uppermost circle. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and so kept his head down and his hand upon his sword's pommel. None dared bother him.

* * * * * * * * *

The Prince of Dol Amroth was deep in conversation with one of his captains when Faramir rapped on his door. A young page, pale with exhaustion, answered the knock. "Is my uncle within?" he asked, unable to see the room's occupants, who were hidden behind the partially open door.

"Come in, Nephew, come in." Imrahil's voice was strong, despite the late hour. Faramir thought he heard a slight groan from the boy. Faramir moved stiffly to the table and picked up a decanter of fragrant red wine. As he began filling his glass, the Prince made a disgruntled motion to the page, who should have been waiting upon his guests.

"Let him go to his bed, Uncle. The boy is nearly asleep on his feet. It is well past the bedtime of one so young." Faramir smiled kindly at the youth, who blushed and ducked his chin against his thin chest.

"All right. Away with you, lad. But see you return promptly by the third hour." Faramir laughed at the delighted look the young page gave him as he scurried from the room. 

"I fear you are a bad influence on my servants. You should not encourage them to shirk their duties." Despite the severity of his words, Imrahil's sea-gray eyes were laughing. The Prince made a sweeping motion with his hand, indicating that Faramir should take a seat at the table.

"What is so important that it keeps you and members of your staff up so late? If I remember correctly, this is Captain Redderick, to whom I still owe a debt of gratitude for his help that night we took my father to the Houses of Healing." The captain gave a nod of acknowledgement and thanks.

Imrahil studied his nephew closely, then pushed a sheet of parchment toward him. "Read and you will understand what keeps me from my well-earned rest." This time Imrahil's words were light, but his tone and his countenance were grim. Faramir looked at the script on the page and realized the words were not the Westron language, but that of Harad. He lifted his eyebrows at this and glanced quizzically at his uncle, who motioned him to continue to read.

Faramir's knowledge of the language of the Haradrim was somewhat sparse, but he could still make out the gist of the letter. What he read shocked him. "Has this information been verified?" he asked sharply.

"Aye, my Lord," answered Imrahil's swan-knight. "The man who put together that dispatch is as trustworthy as my own mother, may she rest in peace. The information is only a few days old. A great army masses on Rohan's border near Isengard."

Faramir shook his head. "If I read this aright, the Haradrim have allied themselves to Isengard and fight with orcs and Uruk-hai. Is this true?"

"Not all in Harad are loyal to Isengard, for most serve Mordor. But it is said that many are lured northward on the promise of wealth and an easier life. It is hard enough being a soldier without also having to endure the horrors meted out by Barad-dur." The captain's face was slightly pale and pinched looking. His steel-gray eyes mirrored the concern in those of his liege lord's. "However, our spies say that most of the men in this army are from Dunland."

"If they mass near the Gap of Rohan, then they are too close for comfort to our lands," the Prince of Dol Amroth said heavily. "What of Theoden King and Prince Theodred? Have they had time, think you, to return safely to Edoras?"

"Yes, my Lord, for our messengers say the King and his party passed through the gap several days before the army first was sighted," replied Captain Redderick.

Prince Imrahil remained silent while he pondered how best Gondor might answer this challenge to its Rohirrim allies and, eventually, to its own lands. Faramir stood and began to pace the length of the room. After a few minutes he stopped in mid-stride and smiled. Prince Theodred always paced when he was excited or angry, but this was not a habit common to the Steward's younger son. "You picked up some bad habits from our Rohan guests, I see," said Imrahil wryly.

"Eledwhen often poked fun at her brother for his restlessness and inability to remain still for any length of time. How I miss them both." Imrahil cocked an eyebrow at his nephew's admission, knowing full well his feelings for the Princess. Faramir caught the look and blushed.

Imrahil sighed tiredly and ran a hand through his hair. "It is late and we all need sleep. Let us three think on these matters and meet in the morning. Faramir, will you join me for breakfast?"

"Aye, Uncle. However, I doubt I shall sleep much. I think I will take a walk on the battlements. Sometimes I think better where the air is clear and the stars seem within reach."

"Well, then, I bid you goodnight until the 'morrow. Captain Redderick, you will meet with the other captains and glean what information they may have heard. I fear that war shall soon be upon us in deadly earnest. We need Denethor's military knowledge now more than ever. It is an evil wind indeed that blows through the White City."

Faramir stood in the doorway, one hand on the latch, remembering his final conversation with Mithrandir. The old wizard had explained his purpose for coming to Minas Tirith, a purpose that had brought him to the White City in time to save the Steward from total madness, and the city itself from mounting chaos. Mithrandir needed to browse through the ancient scrolls in the city's libraries, searching for what he would not say. Evidently his search had been fruitful, for the wizard had taken his leave rather abruptly. However, he had taken the time to inform Faramir of his intentions to ride to Orthanc to confer with Saruman before traveling on to Imladris.

"I hope that Mithrandir finds his answers at Orthanc and, later, in Rivendell. I sent letters to Boromir with him. I wish with all my heart that my brother could have traveled with the wizard. If we'd only known about the council…"

Prince Imrahil walked to his nephew's side and placed a hand lightly upon his shoulder. "Life is filled with 'what ifs.' They can drive a man mad. Be content that he is with the woman he shall marry and pray that both are well."

Faramir felt a dark shadow fall upon his heart at Imrahil's words. Snatches of the dream he'd had earlier came to him in fleeting flashes. He pleaded silently to the Valar that it was merely a nightmare, not a premonition. Dejectedly he headed for the battlements.

****

To be continued


	4. My Kingdom for a Healer

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

Sean Bean, who plays Boromir in the movie LOTR/FOTR, also had a role in a movie entitled _My Kingdom for a Horse_. The name of this chapter is a takeoff on that movie title. 

And now (drum roll, please) back to Boromir and the answer to Faramir's dream…

My Kingdom for a Healer

Boromir felt as though he was drifting upon a black sea, where gentle waves rocked him in complete darkness. His mind felt oddly detached from his body, causing him to wonder if he was dead. As Boromir floated weightlessly, idly speculating about his death, a great wave rose from the otherwise calm sea, swept him upward, and then tossed him roughly onto land. An intense and nearly unbearable pain consumed him like parchment in a fire as his body made contact with the unyielding shore. _Valar, I hope this is a dream and that I shall awake uninjured in my bedroll_. As he writhed in pain upon the unknown shore, tendrils of darkness curled about his mind, dragging him downward into the deep.

* * * * * * * * *

It was night when Denethor's eldest son gained consciousness. How many nights had passed since the accident he could not guess, for time has little meaning for those who sleep and dream. Boromir knew he had plunged a fair distance and, therefore, expected to find that his body had been shattered in the fall. The moon momentarily peeked out from behind the cloud covering and Boromir could see the steep ravine into which he had fallen. _That drop should have killed me._ A shiver passed through his body as he offered a slight prayer to the Valar that he was still alive.

Boromir shifted his weight to gain a better view of his surroundings and felt a bulk beneath him. Slowly he moved his right hand across the top of the stiff mass (relieved that the limb felt sound) and realized, with a jolt, that he was resting atop his stead's lifeless body. _Poor Arod, to have come so far and survived so much, only to die in this strange land_. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he held them in check. This was no time for weak sentimentality, but for action. He had to find a way out of the ravine before scavengers were lured to him by the smell of Arod's rotting corpse.

As a survivor of more battles than he could remember, Boromir knew he would have to take inventory of his injuries before taking any action. He uttered a slight groan, steeled himself for the pain to come, and willed his left arm to move. He was elated to find it unbroken. He next lifted his right leg. _So far so good_, he thought. However, when he moved his left leg, the excruciating pain produced a fierce wave of nausea. _Broken_, he thought grimly. After a detailed check of his entire body, Boromir was relieved to find that the only other injures were two broken ribs and a deep bruise to his left shoulder. He had been extremely fortunate for his injuries were relatively minor. Poor Arod's neck was broken. Tears welled in his eyes again as he looked upon his once faithful companion. "Pull yourself together," he chided himself out loud. "It is time to leave this place." 

Boromir shifted his body to look for something to help him stand; his left hand felt the smooth leather of his mount's reins. _Perfect,_ he thought. Grasping Arod's reins firmly in his right hand, he stretched out his unbroken leg until the foot felt resistance. Then he pushed against his mount's side, used the reins for balance, and struggled to stand on his right leg. _I can do this._ _I must do this or join Arod in eternal rest, and that is definitely not an option._ The struggle to stand quickly drained what little strength he possessed, but Boromir managed to support his weight on his unbroken leg. He felt giddy with victory; the feeling quickly dissolved, however, when he realized he would have to hop on that leg to go anywhere. _A brilliant plan, heir of Gondor, but one that lacks foresight. I am on my feet, or foot as the case may be, but I have nothing to lean against for support. How far will I get hopping about like a bloody bunny? _

Having recognized the holes in his plan, Boromir struggled to return to a sitting position. A loud roaring filled his ears and he realized he was about to pass out. He hopped backward, hoping to return to his seat upon Arod's flank, but instead fell heavily upon the hard ground. Uttering a terrible scream, the heir of Gondor once more plunged into darkness. 

* * * * * * * * * 

At the same moment a dreaming Faramir heard his brother's cry, the Princess of Rohan bolted upright in bed. She, too, had heard Boromir's voice. Eledwhen threw back the covers and began to rise, but a terrible pain in her side caused her to double over. _My ribs are healed. I should not still be in pain. _Frightened, wanting the comfort of her grandmother's arms, Eledwhen rose from the bed. An excruciating pain flared in her left leg, causing her to cry out and crumble helplessly to the floor.

"What is wrong, child? I felt your pain and come as quickly as possible." The Lady Galadriel was standing in the entrance to the room, one hand holding back the elaborately designed covering. She was shocked to see Eledwhen huddled on the floor, tears streaming down her pale face. Galadriel's feet barely brushed the floor as she rushed to kneel beside the distraught girl. "What has happened?"

"It is Boromir. I heard him call out and I am in terrible pain. I believe it is my lord's pain that I feel and that something horrible has happened to him."

Galadriel was relieved that it was not Eledwhen who was in physical pain. "Come child, climb back into bed. You had a bad dream, nothing more."

Eledwhen shook her head, her unbound hair falling into her eyes. She pushed the hair behind her ears with one hand, while the other crushed Galadriel's arm in a vise-like grip. "This was a dream same as that I had on the road; the night I had the vision of the owl and knew my brother was a prisoner in Gondor's dungeons. You know that was a true vision, for you were beside me when I looked into your mirror and saw him being flogged. I would have ridden immediately to Gondor had I not seen him rescued by the Prince of Dol Amroth."

Galadriel searched Eledwhen's face intently. The girl was as frightened as she had been the night she begged her grandmother to use her powers to discover what had befallen Prince Theodred. Thinking to placate her injured granddaughter, who was almost wild with worry, Galadriel had bidden her to look into the mirror. The Lady of the Golden Wood had not expected Eledwhen's fears to be verified, but that was before she realized how truly gifted the child was. Not only could she heal with just a touch, she also could see events from afar as though physically present. _If she says Boromir is in trouble, then he certainly must be._

"Eledwhen, do not fear. I am certain the Lord Boromir is all right. It is you I worry about. You must calm yourself. If you have no care for your own health, at least think of the unborn child."

The Princess stared at Galadriel, her eyes wide in astonishment. "So you do know. I was foolish to believe I could hide this from you. I was correct when I told Boromir that your concern for him was as a father to my child."

Galadriel chuckled lightly. "You are too perceptive by far. In truth, I knew almost as soon as you did. There has been a glow about you since that night you bound yourself to the mortal. I was angry you went against my wishes, but that quickly faded into delight at the life you carry, for I shall be a great-grandmother." Relieved that the Elven Queen was not angry, Eledwhen hugged Galadriel tightly. "It shall be a boy. I can feel it." 

Her laughter was so light and gay that Galadriel hoped the girl would not remember her dream about Boromir. But almost the instant the thought crossed her mind, Eledwhen pushed away, her face once more pale and drawn. "What if Boromir dies? My child will carry no man's name. I cannot bear that he would forever be called bastard. I must ride out and find his father."

Galadriel wrapped her arms about the Princess to physically restrain her, and to offer what comfort it was in her power to give. She was conflicted, torn between a desire to keep Eledwhen forever in Lorien, and her duty to ease her granddaughter's mental suffering. Heaving a sigh of resignation, the Elf lifted the girl's chin until two pairs of deep blue eyes met. "There is something I must tell you. I suppose it has been wrong of me to keep this from you, but I cannot bear the thought of losing you. The night that you and Boromir exchanged vows and bonded yourselves to one another for eternity…well, that was a legally binding wedding ceremony according to Elven custom. I do not know how Gondor's people will see it, but as far as the Firstborn are concerned, you two already are husband and wife."

Eledwhen's face lit up brighter than the sky at high noon. Then, just as suddenly as the brightness shone in her face, darkness settled across her once more pale features. "Why did you not tell me this before my lord left? It is cruel of you to keep such a secret. You know how upset we are about not being legally wed. Do you hate Boromir so much you would have him wander alone weighed down by his guilt?"

Galadriel looked as though she had sustained a fatal wound. She rose swiftly and began to pace the room. "If he suffers, it is his own fault! He thought to force our hand by getting you with child. The Man is immensely selfish and too prideful by far. He played a game, with you as his white queen, in hopes of having his way. Can you not see how cold and manipulative he is?"

Eledwhen stared at her grandmother through narrowed eyes. She was very angry. Galadriel stopped her pacing. "Can you tell me why you love this Man so much? If I could but understand your feelings for him…"

The Princess' facial features grew soft and her eyes shone brightly. "I love that he is honorable and brave; that he is terribly fierce in battle, yet tender with me. His strong, callused hands have killed thousands but, when he touches me, it is as gentle and tender a touch as any ever bestowed by my mother. I love the way his eyes light up when he smiles and the sound of his laughter. When I am with him I am happy beyond words. He is so handsome and noble and…" 

"And you love and adore him," Galadriel finished. Blushing, the girl nodded, then stared down at her hands. Galadriel looked at her granddaughter thoughtfully and then heaved another sigh. The child was hopelessly in love and now carried the proof of that love. She would never forsake Boromir for the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. "I think, perhaps, that Celeborn and I misjudged the depth of your feelings for this Human. We thought you felt naught but a teen-ager's crush for an older man, but we were wrong and I sincerely apologize. When Boromir returns you shall have your formal marriage ceremony, if that is what you both wish."

Overwhelmed with emotions, Eledwhen propelled herself off the floor and flung herself into her grandmother's arms. "I knew you would see how much Boromir and I belong together. I am so happy, but I still cannot understand why you sought to break us apart." 

"You cannot know the pain of losing a child. I lost your mother to Theoden even before she was killed by orcs. I also lost my daughter, Celebrian, because of orcs. Finding you at last, I could not bear the thought of losing you, too."

"Oh, Grandmother. Boromir will not prevent me from visiting Lorien. He is not my father. Yes, I know he is stubborn and, sometimes, mule-headed, but he would never do anything to cause me undue grief." Suddenly a shadow passed across Eledwhen's face and she shivered violently. 

"What is it child?"

"Boromir and my dream. What if something has happened and he is dead? I shall never see him again." 

Galadriel felt her heart lurch. All her games designed at keeping Eledwhen and Boromir apart… would the girl ever forgive her grandparents if Boromir never returned? Galadriel searched Eledwhen's distraught face and knew she had to set things right. "Well," she said at last. "Let us hope it does not come to that. Do not despair, for I feel in my bones that your lord will return to you." Galadriel clasped Eledwhen tightly to her breast and gazed upon the sunrise. 

"I hope, for my child's sake, that is true," the girl murmured softly.

* * * * * * * * *

The sun was shining hotly when Boromir awoke for the second time since his accident. His mouth was dry and tasted sour. A putrid odor and a loud buzzing sound caused him to turn his head. Arod lay rotting in the heat, a blanket of flies covering his body like a shroud. Boromir shook with fury to see his faithful companion suffer such a final indignity. Rage consumed him and, uttering a fierce cry, he began to swat at the flies. Unfortunately, his efforts succeeded only in causing white-hot pain to flare within his leg. He lost his balance, fell face forward onto the hard earth and threw up what little remained in his stomach. Boromir looked again at his once proud stead and was sad to see that worms, too, were feasting on the body. Judging from the condition of his mount's corpse, he estimated that he had been in the ravine close to three days. 

Gondor's heir turned onto his back and looked tiredly up at the sky. _It cannot be my fate that I shall end my life in this forsaken place. I must not give up. My people need me, and I now have a wife and child to protect_. Boromir moved into a sitting position with a great effort and began assessing his options. He knew he would need to find something to hold his leg in place or he would be unable to walk. He would worry about binding his broken ribs later. Though he did not feel particularly blessed, he realized that the fates had smiled upon him. It was obvious the horse's neck was broken and that he, too, would have suffered a similar fate had Arod's body not broken his fall. "Rest in peace, dear friend. You served me well even after death."

Tearing his gaze from Arod, Boromir began to inventory his tack. He needed items that could be used to bind his broken leg. Both the leather reins and the large girth could be used to hold a splint in place, but what could he use for the splint itself? Frowning, he searched the ground surrounding him. There were plenty of broken branches and, although brittle, they might hold until he could find help. _I must set this leg properly, and soon, or I could end up walking with a cane the rest of my life._ He would not allow himself to even think about the risk of infection.

It took the man of Gondor most of the afternoon to gather suitable branches for the splint and, afterward, to set the leg. Twice he blacked out from the pain. Night was fast approaching when he finally completed the task. Boromir smiled weakly at the splint he had made_. Not a bad job; I would make a fair healer_. Boromir had lived more than half his life as a warrior, an occupation that had provided countless opportunities for learning how to tend injuries in the field. He hoped this knowledge would now serve to keep him alive. 

His satisfaction at the job already accomplished slowly faded into annoyance as he contemplated how to get to his feet. He could use his mount's corpse again, but its condition rendered it almost useless for such a purpose. _I shall_ _find_ _something more solid to support me_. _Arod's usefulness has ended._ The flies were beginning to become extremely annoying, and on the wind he could hear the howls of foraging wolves. Boromir had no intention of becoming fodder for any animal. He decided finally that one of the thick tree trunks in the ravine would provide the leverage he needed to regain his feet or, rather, his foot; however, he would have to drag himself several yards to the nearest one. _I'd best get on with it. I am running out of time._ He shivered slightly as he heard more howls, much closer than the first. 

Denethor's son glanced up at the darkening sky, then slowly and painfully crawled toward the trees. He tried to keep his mind off the pain by thinking about Eledwhen in Lothlorien, and of his brother in the White City. He focused part of his mind on the task at hand, the other part he focused upon images of their faces. Just as he reached a stout-looking tree, Boromir heard a low growl. "The carrion eaters have arrived," he said aloud, looking toward the trees where the sound had emanated. He drew his sword quickly from its scabbard and debated whether he should try to stand. _Nay, for if they rush me as I struggle to rise I will have no chance against them._ Grimly he gripped his sword, supported his back against the tree trunk and waited.

A low snarl heralded the arrival of the first wolf, which stepped cautiously from the cover of the trees. It was a very large and powerfully built male, though obviously an underfed one. Its ribs showed clearly beneath its mangy coat. As the wolf stood exposed in the ravine, sniffing the air for danger, a smaller female wolf left her hiding place and moved toward Arod's corpse. Its larger companion started to follow but stopped abruptly, its long snout pointed upward as it caught a new scent on the breeze.

Boromir felt the wind shift and knew it would be only a matter of seconds before the predators caught his scent. Both would soon realize that they did not have to settle for long-dead flesh -- not when fresh meat was available. The male turned and Boromir could see huge golden eyes fixed intently upon him. It growled a warning to its mate, who turned away from the rotting meat to seek out the threat the male warned of.

__

This is not going to be pleasant, Boromir thought. _I will be fortunate indeed if I survive their attack._ Sensing the man's disability and weakness, the wolves began cautiously advancing, putting space between them as they came. Boromir knew they would attack from both sides at once, and that he would have to be swift to avoid having his throat ripped out.

The female attacked first, searching for an opening in his defenses. Boromir easily fended her off with his sword, but kept one eye on the lookout for the male wolf. When it came in for the kill, it managed to knock Boromir sideways against the female, who yelped fearfully and retreated. The male then leapt toward his victim, teeth bared, and snapped viciously in an attempt to reach the warm flesh of the throat. Boromir struggled to shove the creature away from his body using his right arm, while his left hand felt for the dagger at his belt. The female wolf chose that moment to reenter the fray. Boromir howled a fierce war cry, realizing as he did that he would be unable to fight them both successfully from his position on the ground. 

From the corner of his eye, Gondor's heir saw the female propel herself off the ground. He pushed himself firmly against the trunk of the tree, not wanting the impact to knock him over. Surprisingly, instead of being slammed by the animal, Boromir heard a sharp cry of pain and a loud thud as the female hit the ground. He risked a quick glance at the body and was surprised to see a long-shafted arrow protruding from the throat. Quickly he freed his dagger from its sheath and buried it in the male's side. Enraged, the wolf snarled viciously and tried to sink its deadly fangs into its opponent's flesh. Boromir reacted instinctively as he withdrew the dagger and plunged it into the animal's eye. The male died quickly, its body falling heavily onto Boromir, knocking him sideways onto the ground.

"Well, you did need my help after all, Man of Gondor. I told the Lady that a warrior such as yourself would never need the assistance of an Elf, but she insisted."

Boromir winced, wishing someone else -- anyone else -- had found him. Taking a deep breath, he looked up and saw Haldir standing above him, hands on his hips, green eyes bright with mirth. Boromir groaned loudly. _Oh, how I'd like to throttle that arrogant tree Elf! That would wipe the smirk off his face._

Haldir threw back his head and laughed heartily. The musical sound seemed to lighten the dim ravine. "If you do not want my help, I shall leave you to your own devices and return to Lothlorien. I followed you only because the Lady thought you might need someone to guard your back."

Boromir snorted derisively. "Then where were you when I fell into this bloody ravine? And where the blazes have you been while I lay here waiting to die beside this rotting, stinking corpse? If you had been but a minute longer, I would be lying here dead, wolves feasting on my still warm flesh."

Haldir shrugged his slender shoulders and turned as though to leave. "If you cannot be civil, then I am off to the Golden Wood." The Elf began to walk away from the Human, a wide grin on his face. Boromir's disgruntled voice finally commanded him to stay. Haldir stopped, but did not turn around. His grin broadened.

"Bloody Elf. You are going to make me beg you for help!"

"No, my Lord Boromir. A civil 'please' will suffice. Do all Men lack manners, or is it just the nobility of Gondor who treat everyone else as servants?"

Denethor's son grumbled something rude beneath his breath. Haldir turned around slowly. His face wore a look of total innocence. "I am sorry. I did not catch what you said." Actually, he had heard the Man's words, but was enjoying tormenting Boromir too much to let him know. The Gondorian could be such a brutish boor.

Boromir finally offered the Elf a poor attempt at a smile. "Will you help me, sir Elf? I seem to have broken my leg and a rib or two."

Haldir produced one of his silvery laughs and bent down beside the injured Man. "All you had to do was ask." 

****

To be continued


	5. The Steward Returns

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

Thanks to JMac for comparing my last chapter to the writings of Louis Lamour. I am flattered, of course. My sincere thanks to those readers who have reviewed this story. It is a labor of love and so I continue.

Denethor finally awakens in this chapter. I believe that Denethor fans may actually like the new and improved Steward of Gondor.

The Steward Returns

Denethor II, Steward of Gondor since the death of his father, Ecthelion II, woke abruptly from a macabre nightmare filled with horrific images of death and wanton brutality. The corporeality of the dream left him straining for breath, and his large frame shook as though wracked by fever. Denethor shook his head to clear away the last vestiges of the dream, then looked closely about his surroundings. He was lying on a soft bed within the Houses of Healing. He recognized the room, for it was used solely for those of the highest rank. _What am I doing here? Certainly I am not ill. _

Irritated, Denethor threw back the covers and swung his feet over the side of the bed. His irritation rose a notch when he realized there were no slippers beside the bed. He had instructed his valet to always place slippers beside his bed so long as he remained within the White City. "Marric! Marric where are you?" Denethor shouted. How dare they leave him alone and unattended. His irritation quickly flared into indignation. The twenty-sixth Steward of Gondor enjoyed the privileges that came with his position and title, and he never hesitated to chastise anyone showing disrespect for either. As he began to rise from the bed, the door to the sick room opened and his manservant, Marric, entered. The man's eyes widened in astonishment as he sputtered, "My Lord, they did not tell me that you are conscious. We all have worried that you would never… Praise the Valar for your recovery!"

"What are you babbling on about? Why am I in the Houses of Healing? Fetch my son, Boromir, immediately."

Marric looked extremely uncomfortable. "My Lord Steward, your eldest son has not been within these walls for at least the past two moons." At Denethor's look of cold rage, Marric retreated a couple of steps. "Shall I send for the Lord Faramir? He has been by your side almost constantly since you… took ill."

Denethor stared at him narrowly. "What is this illness of which you speak?"

The manservant shifted from one foot to the other nervously. "My Lord, why don't I fetch your youngest son? I am certain he can answer all your questions."

The Steward nodded, giving his consent for the man to leave on the agreed upon errand. When he was alone again, Denethor began to scour his memory for the last thing that he could remember. He finally was able to recall the pre-nuptial revelry in Merethrond, the Great Hall of Feasts. When had he fallen ill? Denethor felt a fleeting chill on the back of his neck and quickly looked around. The window was tightly shut. 'Twas no draft that had caused Goosebumps to form on his flesh. The door opened and Faramir strode into the room. His father read the relief -- and the wariness -- which crossed his face in rapid succession. "I was on my way here when I ran into Marric. He told me the good news." 

Denethor realized by the tone of Faramir's voice that his son was not certain how good the news was. He looked strained and ill at ease. Denethor stood slowly and deliberately. He pinned his son with a stony stare before speaking. "What has happened? My fool of a manservant spoke of some illness. Why am I not in the Citadel within my own chambers?"

Faramir cleared his throat. "What is the last thing you remember, Father?"

Denethor recognized that Faramir was hesitant to apprise his father of recent events. He had taught both his sons how to deflect another's question with one of their own. It was a very effective stalling tactic. "Do not play games with me, boy. I asked you a pointed question and I expect a direct answer. Now!"

At the Steward's barked command, Faramir squared his shoulders and stood at attention. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back to hide the slight tremor from his father's eagle eyes. "You have not been yourself since the celebration of Boromir's upcoming marriage."

The Steward studied his son closely. "Go on."

"Well, sir, your actions were not normal. I am hesitant to go into details without your physician's leave. He gave strict orders that, once you regained consciousness, you were not to be bothered with matters that may cause undue distress."

Denethor moved with catlike quickness and struck his son across the face with the back of his hand. When he spoke, his tone was dangerous. "How dare you disobey a direct order from your Steward. I shall brook no disobedience, especially from my own flesh and blood. You serve Gondor in your current rank at my pleasure. Do not cross me."

Faramir stiffened visibly at the implied threat. His cheek stung from his father's slap. "Does my Lord Steward wish to hear the entire truth?"

"That would be most refreshing," Denethor replied sarcastically.

"Very well, Father. I have been acting Steward for almost a month… since the night we carried you to this room. You became ensnared by the Dark Lord and unwittingly carried out his plan to destroy Minas Tirith from within." Faramir's tone was emotionless and his stare was carefully blank. Denethor's eyes became small black orbs and he shook with rage.

"How dare you accuse the ruling Steward of Gondor of consorting with the enemy! Have you gone mad? This is a preposterous tale. I should have _you_ detained within these walls until you begin to make some sense."

"You had best listen to your son, Denethor, for he speaks the truth." The Prince of Dol Amroth was standing in the open doorway, one hand resting lightly upon his sword hilt. He had witnessed his brother-in-law strike Faramir. 

Denethor looked from the grim countenance of one man to the even grimmer countenance of the other. Could it be true? Could he have become an unwitting pawn in Sauron's plans to capture the White City? "Speak, Captain Faramir. I demand a full account of events since the feast in the Great Hall. Spare me nothing. If what you say is the truth, I have committed treason."

Faramir and his uncle exchanged relieved glances. Denethor sounded quite sane. Faramir proceeded to provide a detailed account of his father's most recent activities. The Steward turned pale during the recounting of the rape of the Princess of Rohan, but he remained silent. When his son repeated Mithrandir's account of the confrontation in the tower, Denethor sank slowly onto the bed, his face cradled in his hands. "Imrahil, please, tell me this is not true."

"Would that I could, Denethor. But everything the lad says is fact. The wizard said you used one of the Numenorean seeing-stones, which allowed the Dark Lord to bend your mind and will to help bring about the fall of Minas Tirith. Eledwhen fled the city and refused to return when your sons found her, for obvious reasons. Boromir decided to take the Princess with him to Imladris. After you ordered the Prince of Rohan imprisoned in the Citadel dungeons, I saved Theodred from the torture that you ordered. We came within a hair's breadth of war with Rohan. If not for Mithrandir's timely appearance, Sauron's forces could have marched into the city without any resistance. We were on the brink of a civil upheaval that would have made Gondor's kin-strife seem mild by comparison. All was madness and chaos."

Denethor groaned. He looked as though he had aged a decade in the past half an hour. His noble face was gray and his proud features had gone slack. "My foolish pride almost cost everything we have fought for. You should have clamped me in chains in the dungeon. At least there I could have done no harm to my people."

Prince Imrahil and Faramir relaxed. They had been prepared for denials, for outraged indignation… anything but total acceptance of the facts. For the first time since meeting Ecthelion's heir, the Prince of Dol Amroth felt something other than strong dislike for the man. 

"What is done, is done. Very few know the true facts of these events, and none that do will repeat them. The people of Gondor know only that their Steward suffered a debilitating illness. I must add that Faramir has done an exemplary job as acting Steward." The Prince of Dol Amroth studied Denethor closely as he spoke. His dead sister's husband seemed quite shaken, but there was no sign of deceit.

Faramir went to his father and bent down on one knee beside the bed. Gently he took the older man's hands in his. "Everything within the city is as well as it can be. Yet there are pressing matters about which I could use your advice… when you are fully recovered."

Denethor squared his shoulders. "I am fit to rule now. Are you prepared to relinquish your control of Minas Tirith?"

Imrahil did not like the look of suspicion and jealousy that burned in the Steward's eyes as he looked upon his youngest son. True, such a reaction seemed normal for Denethor, but it also hinted at something more sinister. "Perhaps we should leave Faramir at the White City's helm, with you as advisor, until we can be certain that the shadow of the Dark Lord has completely passed from your mind." Denethor's eyes hardened and his face, so pale mere moments before, became deeply flushed.

"Uncle Imrahil only wants what is best for you and for our people." Faramir's tone was impersonal, but the soft gray eyes that searched his father's face were pleading. The Steward finally nodded.

"If everything has been as you both say, then perhaps I do bear watching. Send Adanomir to me. I would hear his assessment of my condition. Also, send for Marric. I need hot water for a bath as well as a change of clothes. Then we three shall hold council."

Faramir rose to his feet and gave his father a respectful bow. "All shall be as you wish." Saying that, Faramir left his father's sick room, followed slowly by the Prince of Dol Amroth. Denethor watched them through narrowed eyes, tormented by doubts. He could not help but feel that those two harbored plans to take control of Gondor. 

__

Stop that! Such thoughts are both foolish and dangerous; yet I shall watch them closely. They say I have been under the influence of the evil one. How do I know this to be true? Perhaps it is they who have been swayed to darkness. I must be cautious and on my guard, and not just against them, but myself. If what they say is true, then I must have been out of my mind. That poor child, how she must hate and despise me. And Boromir… Denethor shuddered at the thought of how his heir would deal with the man who had raped his betrothed. _Yet I am his father, and his liege lord. He will understand and, in time, forget and forgive. For the survival of our nation, it must be so. _

****

To be continued


	6. When Heirs Collide

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

Back to Boromir and his twice-interrupted journey to Imladris. In this chapter, the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor meets the heir to the throne of Gondor near Rivendell. This is the time before the council when Aragorn would have had some spare time on his hands. For my story, he is scouting the lie of the land around Imladris with one of Elrond's twin sons. 

When Heirs Collide

In took Haldir only a few minutes to remove the field splint that Boromir had spent hours devising. The Man gave a long-suffering sigh as the Elf deftly undid his handiwork. Boromir was lying on the ground and propped slightly up on his elbows so he could keep a wary eye on Haldir. The sigh soon turned into a deep groan, however, as slender hands gently probed the leg and the broken bone beneath the flesh. "Prepare yourself, for this will hurt a little," Haldir said good-humoredly as he took Boromir's left leg firmly in both his hands and pulled until the bones fit together properly once more.

"I set it already," Boromir hissed through clenched teeth. Haldir studied his patient silently, noting the extremely pale face drenched in sweat. The slight glaze to the eyes told him that the Man would soon become unconscious. "You did not set it straight enough. It would have knitted improperly and you would have walked with a limp the rest of your life. You are very fortunate I happened along."

Boromir groaned again and sank back onto the ground. He felt dizzy and nauseous, and the loud roar in his ears was making him deaf to external sounds. He knew he was passing out again and actually looked forward to the relief from pain unconsciousness would bring. As his vision darkened, Boromir felt something pressed against his lips. Faintly he heard a voice telling him to drink and he obeyed. Something warm and fragrant slid over his tongue. It tasted delicious, yet burned slightly as it flowed down his throat. "What is that?" Boromir asked Haldir between greedy sips. 

"We call it _miruvor. _I am surprised you are not already acquainted with our cordial, which can do much to renew one's vigor and strength. How do you feel?"

Boromir's unspoken reply was to reach for the flask. "Easy, son of Denethor. You have had enough _miruvor_ for now. Its effects are quite potent and I do not want you drunk before I can get you out of this ravine. Come, place your right arm about my shoulders and I will help you stand. There is a path yonder that leads to the top. Be careful, for it is very steep. Should you feel as though you may swoon, please let me know, for I have no desire to carry you."

Gondor's heir glared at him. "I have never swooned! Soldiers do _not_ _swoon_. Women swoon. I will thank you to remember who I am and to treat me with the proper respect."

Haldir chewed on his lower lip, successfully staunching the torrent of scorching invectives he was about to unleash. Instead he "accidentally" allowed his grip on the Man to slip so that the injured leg came in contact with the ground. Boromir howled in pain and Haldir managed to hide a satisfied smile before apologizing for his clumsiness. Although Boromir had never seen a clumsy Elf, and much doubted that any of the Silvan folk could ever be clumsy, he remained silent. For now he was at the mercy of this precocious creature. _Just wait until I can stand upon two legs and wield a sword again. I will teach him a thing or two about respect._

By placing his weight against Haldir, Boromir managed to hop on his right foot a few feet at a time before fatigue caused him to pause and lean more heavily upon the Elf. When he felt some of his strength return, they would continue. It was the dark of the morning when they finally reached the top. Boromir gratefully reached for a stout tree and leaned against it, gasping for breath. From somewhere off to his left, he thought he heard a soft nicker. He searched for the source of the sound and beheld the most magnificent horse he had ever laid eyes upon. Its white coat gleamed brightly in the moonlight, and its full mane flowed like silken threads over its long, muscular neck. He marveled at its height, estimating that the animal stood about 18 hands tall.

"You have a horse! Why the bloody blazes did you not bring him down into the ravine? You made me walk all that way when you have a horse!" Boromir was more than a little irate. He was shaking badly from the long walk, he ached in every muscle, and each breath he drew caused pain. With a start, he remembered his broken rib. They had not taken the time to bind it before beginning their trek. 

"The path is too steep for a horse and I could not risk injuring Ethriel. Unless you would prefer to hop all the way to Rivendell?" Haldir tilted his head to the side and studied Boromir intently. The Man was at the end of his physical rope.

"Water under the bridge," Boromir muttered thickly. "We shall speak of it no more. Now I must rest. If you would kindly stand the watch..." As he spoke, Boromir began to slide down the length of the tree trunk. Haldir was beside him instantly, helping him sit upon the ground without jarring his broken limb. "Rest, Man of Gondor, I would be glad to take the watch as soon as I bind your chest. I am remiss in not looking to your rib sooner. Your wife would never forgive me if I caused you any more pain." 

Haldir's voice sounded muffled and very far away. Boromir wanted to remain awake and ask the Elf about his beloved, but his body betrayed him and he lost consciousness. Haldir tended the remainder of the Man's injuries, then placed a blanket over him and chuckled softly. "Despite your protestations, you swooned like a girl." He shook his head and stood. His keen senses told him there was nothing to fear… for now. 

* * * * * * * * *

Man and Elf spent three days among the trees near the ravine in which Boromir had plunged nearly a week before. They had managed to be civil to one another, perhaps because Boromir spent much of the first two days unconscious. When his strength began to return, he huddled beside the fire kindled by Haldir, wrapped in his great cloak. Finally he asked the question that had been uppermost on his mind. "How fares my lady? Is she well?"

"Oh, aye, she is most well, though she became distraught nigh on a week ago because of a dream. Seems she heard you cry out and, upon wakening, actually felt your physical pain. The Princess Eledwhen is a most remarkable young woman. She feared you seriously injured and was determined to ride after you, though one would believe she had learned her lesson about the folly of such heroics after the incident with the orcs. Still, I must admit that I greatly admire her fierce loyalty to those she loves. Were she a Man, she would be a formidable warrior indeed."

"Surely Eledwhen was not allowed to leave Lothlorien?" Boromir asked, absolutely horrified at the thought of his wife riding out alone to find him. 

"Nay, the Lady of the Golden Wood thought it best that I seek the truth to Eledwhen's dream. I asked Ethriel to bear me and we rode as swiftly as the wind, following your tracks across Caradhras." Haldir added in an off-handed manner, as though the question were unimportant, "Did you know you were followed?" Boromir, who had been gazing into the fire, looked up sharply. 

"I saw black riders and felt a darkness and fear I have not encountered since Osgiliath. At first sight, I merely wondered who those riders might be. Now I believe they were the same fell creatures my brother and I encountered on the bridge of Osgiliath before its collapse into the Anduin. But I doubt they search for me, for you found me alive."

"Perhaps they thought the fall killed you. Or, perchance, your destination coincides with theirs." Boromir stared blankly at Haldir; clearly this thought had not crossed his mind. "Since we first met I have felt a shadow upon your heart, as though you have been touched by some evil. Now I understand why. I fear you were touched by their foul breath as you stood upon that doomed bridge."

Boromir shifted uncomfortably. "Exactly what are those black riders?" Haldir heaved a great sigh.

"You are being obtuse. You know what the black riders are. They are the Ringwraiths… the Nazgul, the nine servants of the Lord of the Rings. The nine once were Men… great kings who fell into darkness because of their greed and insatiable lust for power. A bitter failing that and one, unfortunately, that I sense in you." 

Boromir stiffened visibly. At length he replied softly, "I cannot argue that I have no desire for power and greatness. For, in truth, I desire to be King of Gondor after my father's rule ends. It is not fair that the Lord Denethor should remain a Steward, when he is King in all but name only. Should not the Stewards be rewarded for their faithfulness and diligence through all these dark years? If not for Minas Tirith and those who rule her, the power of Mordor would have grown great indeed. It is unjust that the heirs of the Stewards are not allowed to claim the deserted throne of a long-lost race of kings, for we have earned it."

As Boromir spoke passionately, a light sweat broke out upon his noble face and he shook with the ferocity of his feelings. Haldir watched him with a sense of growing dread, for he had more than a passing acquaintance with Isildur's heir. Denethor's son eventually would reach Rivendell, where the future King waited for a council summoned by the Lord Elrond. Haldir groaned inwardly but remained unreadable without. "What would you do should the King return?"

Boromir looked startled. "The King return? After all these centuries you believe that an heir to the throne of Gondor lives? Surely you jest. If there were such a Man he would already have stepped forward to claim what is rightfully his. Nay, no King shall ride out of the West upon a fiery steed to save us from Mordor. The Men of Gondor are all that stand between that cursed land and the rest of Middle-earth, and we have shed too much blood and become too few in numbers. I fear that we shall fall when the darkness is unleashed in full force."

Haldir kept his unwavering gaze upon Boromir, who kept his gaze locked to the fire. "I still would know what you would do should the King come to Gondor to claim his birthright. Would you follow him, or kill him?" A disgusted snort met the Elf's question. 

"There is no sense in having a conversation based upon 'what ifs.' My uncle would counsel against such speculation and say that such a course might well drive a man mad. There is no king in hiding, waiting for who knows what sign to tell him that the time is right to take his throne. Waste no more of my time with such trivia." Boromir pulled his cloak more closely about him and stretched out upon the ground. "Good night, Haldir. I thank you for taking the watch. If you tire, wake me and I will keep an eye out for trouble." The Steward's heir was soon fast asleep and snoring lightly. 

Haldir stared at the Man a long time. At last he smiled. "Never a dull moment when Humans are around. Nary a one." 

* * * * * * * * * 

Little more than a fortnight did it take Haldir and Boromir to reach the Misty Mountains, a long range running north to south between Eriador and the Vales of Anduin. Haldir's steed carried the Steward's heir tirelessly across the many leagues. As they neared the hidden valley in the mountain's western foothills, Ethriel became restive. "Easy, boy, only a few miles more. Soon we shall find food and rest at the Last Homely House." Haldir stroked the animal's soft nose affectionately and stared upward at the snow-tipped peaks towering above them.

"What did you call it?" Boromir asked. He had been staring intently ahead, seeking signs of Imladris. The Elf's words sparked his curiosity enough to stir him to speech. He had barely spoken a word for the past three days, preferring his own company and the solitude it offered. He had grown weary of sparring with the Elf and felt uncomfortable beneath his penetrating stare. More than once Boromir had wondered what thoughts lay behind that questing gaze.

"The Last Homely House it is called. Half-Elven Elrond Peredhil founded Rivendell during the Second Age. Within this hidden valley lies a haven the likes of which has never been seen, except in my own fair land of Lorien." The Elf tore his gaze from the majesty of the mountains and looked upon his companion. "I counsel you to be respectful at all times within Lord Elrond's home." 

Boromir wondered what the odd look Haldir gave him might mean, but his thoughts were interrupted by an ear-splitting cry from Ethriel. His left hand reached for his sword as he pulled back hard on the horse's reins and strained to see beyond the fog-shrouded trees before them. Almost immediately, two shapes emerged from amongst the trees. Both were tall and lean and wore dark cloaks that effectively hid their identities. 

As the two figures neared, Haldir cried out in his own tongue and moved forward at a trot to greet them. The three clasped each other tightly as would old friends or, perhaps, comrades-in-arms. After a hurried conversation, the three moved toward Boromir and his mount, which was now docile and the picture of perfect obedience. Haldir moved to Boromir's side and offered introductions.

"My Lord Boromir, allow me to introduce to you Elladan, son of the Lord Elrond, and Aragorn, a Ranger from the North and chieftain of his people."

Boromir bowed slightly to Elladan before turning his steel-gray eyes upon the Ranger. "We in Gondor have not seen one of the Dunedain for many years. We thought that race had all but died off."

Elladan made a slight choking sound and began to speak, but Aragorn held up a hand to still him before speaking softly to Boromir. "Long have we wandered in the Wilds, gathering news and doing what we can to combat the horrors of Mordor. We prefer anonymity."

Boromir nodded thoughtfully. "Are we near Imladris? My leg aches and my side burns as though on fire. I fear the broken rib may have done some damage whilst we traveled."

Aragorn reached the Man's side in two long strides. He gave Haldir a narrow stare. "You did not tell me he is injured. We will have to make camp here, for we are too far from Rivendell to journey onward tonight." Looking up at Boromir, he added, "I will do what I can to ease your suffering. Although I have treated many injuries, my skills pale when compared to those possessed by the Lord of Imladris. Elladan, would you gather wood for a fire? I deem it safe enough for a little light." The Ranger reached upward for Boromir's hand to help him off the horse. Wordlessly Denethor's heir positioned his uninjured leg on the same side of the mount as that of the broken one. Haldir moved to stand at Aragorn's side to keep Boromir from landing on both feet. Elrond's son left to gather wood for the fire.

It was not long before Boromir was seated on the ground, his back against a large tree and his injured leg stretched out in front of him. He watched Elladan build the fire. _Strange that the son of the Lord of Imladris would so readily obey orders from a mere Ranger._ He was curious about their relationship, but decided it was really none of his concern. The warmth of the fire did much to lift his spirits, as did the Cordial of Imladris that Aragorn bade him drink. "This tastes much like the Elf liquor Haldir carries," Boromir ventured. 

"It is indeed _miruvor,_ but the Lord Elrond's brew is far more potent than any other. I think, perhaps, you should go easy on that." Aragorn reached for the flask before the other Man could become drunk, even as Haldir had done before Boromir's ascent from the ravine. The Ranger knew from experience how easy it was to misjudge the cordial's potency, masked as it was beneath a velvety smoothness. He had drunk too deeply once, when he was much younger, and had never been allowed to forget. Elrond's sons, Elrohir and Elladan, swore he tried to mate with one of their father's prize mares. Aragorn had never believed that story, nor had he heard they repeated it to anyone else. Both twins possessed an oddly twisted sense of humor. 

Aragorn studied the Steward's heir from behind the smoke that curled upward from his long pipe. When he was certain the man was soundly asleep, he motioned Haldir to join him. "What can you tell me of the Lord Boromir? How did he come to be injured?" Haldir offered a succinct account of how the Steward's eldest son managed to break his bones and why he journeyed to the Elven haven. He did not mention the Princess of Rohan or events in Minas Tirith. That was a tale best recounted by Denethor's heir. Aragorn was surprised by the riddle of the dream, yet seemed more interested in Boromir's account of the black-robed riders. "Are you certain these riders were Nazgul? The nine were together when we were attacked at the Bruinen." The Ranger hastily told Haldir about the flight from Amon Sul to the Ford of Bruinen. 

"Aye, I am certain enough from his description that they were wraiths. Of course, they may not have been following him, but merely traveling toward Imladris by the same paths. I do not like that he goes to Rivendell, for there is a dark stain on his soul." Aragorn raised an eyebrow and bid Haldir explain himself. While the Dunadan and the Elf of Lorien talked, Elladan patrolled the camp's perimeter for signs of danger. Though it was rare to find danger this close to the Last Homely House, there had been reports of small bands of orcs seen on this side of Hithaeglir. He also was in a position to eavesdrop without being noticed.

"There is one more issue I must bring up. It would not be wise to tell Denethor's heir exactly who you are. He covets the throne of Gondor and would not act too kindly toward its future occupant. Unless you feel the need for a fight, I suggest you keep your lineage to yourself." Aragorn looked thoughtfully at the sleeping Man. He had heard tales of Boromir's prowess as a warrior, as well as his legendary pride and stubbornness. It came as no surprise, therefore, that the one who had been trained almost his entire life to rule the greatest country in Middle-earth would have dreams of a kingship. 

"He is much like his father, although I do not consider that comparison entirely complimentary. I am well acquainted with the Lord Denethor, for I came to know him during the years I spent in Gondor's service. He is a Man who finds it difficult to accept aught but his own counsel. If he has tutored his eldest son and heir to mimic him in all manners, then I fear that Boromir will never be content with anything less than complete control." Isildur's heir made a sound that could have been a sigh. "Still, we shall see what we shall see. It is probable that one of us will not survive the struggle against the Dark Lord. Boromir could yet claim Gondor's throne."

Haldir looked at him strangely, but Aragorn simply shrugged his broad shoulders and returned his gaze to the fire. He withdrew more pipe weed from a pouch on his belt and remained by the fire, smoking, and did not sleep. 

****

To be continued


	7. The Last Homely House

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

At long last, Boromir reaches Imladris and Elrond treats him to some Elvish healing. I swear that this is Boromir's last mishap (unless you can call his looming death a mishap). I took a snippet of dialogue from the FOTR movie. It fit so perfectly into Aragorn's discussion of Minas Tirith.

The Last Homely House

Boromir could swear he smelled smoke. And was that faint sound in the distance music? Surely a burning forest either surrounded him, or he was dead. The Man of Gondor jerked fully awake. He was lying in an enormous bed centered within an airy room with lofty ceilings. A shaft of sunlight through an uncovered window momentarily blinded him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. A pleasant chuckle to his right let him know he was not alone.

"I am glad to see you finally awake. You have slept the better part of two days." Boromir turned his head and slowly opened one eye. When his vision adjusted to the brightness, he saw an old Man garbed in a drab gray robe belted at the waist. He was puffing on a long pipe. Recognition of his visitor came slowly. When he spoke, Boromir's voice was only slightly better than a croak.

"Mithrandir. We in Gondor have not seen you for many a year. I suppose I should say I am pleased to see you." The old wizard chuckled again at Boromir's rather dry tone. 

"The older you become, the more you sound exactly like your father, the Lord Denethor. Who, by the way, I saw recently during my brief stay at Minas Tirith."

"You saw Father? How fares he? And my brother… did you also see Faramir?"

Mithrandir drew deeply on his pipe before offering a reply. "Aye, and aye again. Your brother gave me a letter to deliver to you, but for the life of me I cannot remember where I left it." Seeing Boromir's expression of dismay, the wizard hastily added, "It is with my belongings. Never fear, I shall find it. As to your father's wellbeing… I believe we should leave that subject for another time. Right now I wish to know how _you_ are." Mithrandir rose from his chair by a window and moved to stand beside Boromir's bed. The Man was frowning, for the wizard's words had alerted him to possible trouble at home. He started to ask a question, but was interrupted by a deep, but lyrical, voice. 

"Lord Boromir, you look much better this morn. I hope you have an appetite, for I have ordered breakfast to be served within the hour." Without waiting for an answer, the newcomer moved to the bed and grasped hold of the Man's wrist. Boromir reacted to the unexpected contact by yanking his arm free and reaching for a dagger that was not at its customary place at his waist. The Elf's look of amusement and the wizard's laughter made him soon realize that the Elf only meant to examine his pulse. Boromir shrugged his shoulders and extended his arm. "At least the fall didn't damage your reflexes," the tall being said dryly.

"Allow me to introduce you to Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris." Mithrandir's eyes twinkled merrily beneath his bushy brows. Boromir looked from the wizard to the Elf and back again. 

"My apologies, Lord Elrond. I have not been myself of late. I am unused to being injured so often, and so badly, in so short a time. I assure you that the Steward of Gondor did not rear his children to be so ungracious. I must apologize."

Elrond made a dismissive gesture with the hand that was not holding the Man's wrist. "Your pulse is steady and much stronger than it was when my son and his friends brought you home. Haldir says you are unused to Elves and their ways, and have little tolerance for either. If your stay at Lothlorien was unsatisfactory, then perhaps we can be more accommodating." 

Boromir watched the Elf's face closely for signs that he knew about Eledwhen and the verbal fights between himself and her grandparents. If Elrond was aware of what took place in the Golden Wood, he gave no indication. Finally satisfied with the Man's vital signs, Elrond pulled back the covers and began examining the broken limb. "You were very fortunate, Lord Boromir. As painful as this must have been for you, it is not a serious break and should mend quickly. Haldir did an excellent job of setting the leg and I deem that it shall heal perfectly straight. Perhaps you might want to thank him?" 

Although Elrond's words were formal, there was just the barest hint of a smile lurking behind his dark eyes. Boromir sighed. Haldir had certainly told the Lord of Imladris about _their_ verbal fights. "In truth, I am grateful for Haldir's help and fear my bad mood has not allowed me to show it. I would welcome the chance to speak with Haldir as soon as possible." 

Elrond glanced toward the room's arched opening. The Elf of Lorien swept aside the soft fabric covering the door, as though bidden to do so by an unspoken command. He bowed formally from the waist before moving gracefully to the bed. "Although you apologized in Caras Galadon for your previous rudeness, I accept this apology as well. I hope some day to observe you in good humor." 

Boromir laughed. "If you wish to see me when I am more myself, then perhaps you would like to accompany me on my journey home. The Golden Wood is most certainly on the way and, too, I have reason to stop there, as you well know." Elrond and Mithrandir looked curiously at the Man and Elf. Although both smiled pleasantly, neither offered to enlighten their host with an explanation. Haldir was the first to break the silence.

"I am afraid I must return immediately to my homeland and will, therefore, be unable to look after you. I pray that the fates are much kinder to you on the return journey and that you have no more mishaps. Perhaps you would like for me to take a written message? I believe there is someone there who would be interested in knowing whether you managed not to get yourself killed." Haldir's smile was almost, but not quite, a smirk. Boromir's eyes narrowed, but he bit back the scathing retort that came to mind. 

"That is most kind of you. I shall write as soon as may be." Haldir bowed formally to Lord Elrond, then nodded his head respectfully toward the wizard before exiting the room. Boromir could tell that those left were about to burst from curiosity, but he was not prepared to discuss his private affairs with strangers. "I greatly feel the need for sleep. Perhaps you will be so kind, Lord Elrond, to see that I receive writing materials?"

Elrond nodded politely and withdrew from the room, followed closely by the wizard. As they walked down the hallway, Mithrandir began chuckling. "All right, I shall ask the question if you will not. Who in Lorien would desire a letter from the Lord of Gondor? Hum?"

The Peredhil shook his head. "I warrant I can find out. There are no secrets in my domain." 

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir was setting his seal to the back of the envelope containing his letter to Eledwhen when the Ranger rapped lightly. "May I enter?" Boromir nodded absently as he blew on the warm wax to cool it. Setting the letter aside, he wiped the wax from his signet ring before sliding it back on his finger. Aragorn, in the meantime, had drawn up a chair beside the bed and settled into it, his long legs stretched in front of him. "To whom do you write, if I may ask?"

Boromir gave him a narrow stare and resumed his examination of the wax seal. Finding it satisfactory, he then turned to his examination of the Ranger. _So the Lord Elrond sends a Ranger of the North to poke about in my business. Then it is true that Elves are possessed of an insatiable curiosity._ Denethor's son smiled amiably at his guest and settled comfortably against the large and incredibly soft pillows bracing his back. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, master Ranger?"

Aragorn tried to suppress a smile, but could tell by the tightening of the other Man's jaw that he had not been altogether successful. He assumed a deferential posture by bowing his head and folding his hands in his lap. "I have just returned from another sweep of the outlying lands and thought to see how you are mending."

"Have you not spoken to the Lord Elrond, then? For he and Mithrandir stopped by this morning." Boromir put on his best politician's smile and waited for the game to play itself out. He knew that Elrond had sent the Ranger to learn for whom the letter was meant, and he also knew that the Ranger knew he knew. Aragorn studied Denethor's heir thoughtfully before throwing his head back and laughing. This was not what Boromir had expected and he frowned. Noting the other Man's consternation, Aragorn wiped a tear from one eye and cleared his throat.

"I am sorry, but this _situation_ is too amusing not to laugh. By your demeanor I surmise that you already know part of the purpose for my visit. It is true that the Lord Elrond is nearly bursting with curiosity over the intended recipient of that letter." 

Boromir shook his head and allowed a faint smile to brighten his noble features. "I would have been disappointed had he not sent you. My father would never allow correspondence to pass from the Citadel without knowing first its content and destination. The Lord of Imladris is certainly within his rights. However, this is of a personal nature and I shall not reveal to whom I send it. The Peredhil will have to remain curious. Unless, of course, the Tree Elf spills his guts."

Once again Aragorn threw back his head and laughed until tears sprang to his eyes. Boromir finally relaxed and laughed companionably. "So, now that my duty to the Lord Elrond has been satisfied, I may now turn to my own purpose for coming here, for I sincerely desire to know how you are getting along with those injuries."

Boromir's right hand made a sweeping gesture toward his left leg. "My leg is mending nicely, according to the Lord Elrond. The ribs are merely fractured and are of no importance. I should be able to sit a horse well enough to travel in little more than the passing of one moon. It is my hope that our host will lend me a horse from his stables so that I may return to my city as quickly as possible. These are dark times and every Man is sorely needed."

Aragorn held Boromir's eyes with his keen gaze before lowering his head. The Ranger appeared to study his hands as he asked casually, "And what of your mission? Have you learned the answer to the riddle of your dreams?"

Boromir shifted his position in the bed so that he was staring directly into the other's face. "I see you have had more than a few passing words with Haldir. He is too chatty by far. Perhaps I should not entrust this letter to his keeping, since he will probably read it and bandy about its contents. Elves cannot be trusted." The Ranger gave Boromir a hard stare. His eyes had narrowed and a vein stood out prominently on his forehead. "I have angered you, Ranger of the North. I forget that you are friendly with these creatures."

Aragorn lowered his eyes slowly and Boromir sensed that a fire smoldered beneath the otherwise calm exterior. When the Man finally spoke, his words were carefully measured. "Aye, I am a friend to the Elves and they, to me, in kind. The Lord of Imladris reared me since I was naught but a wee child, so do not say to my face that an Elf cannot be trusted. I have entrusted them with my very life and have never been disappointed. This I cannot say of the race of Men."

Boromir snorted. "Then you have never been to Gondor, for my people are ever true to their word. We are a proud and noble race. Our rulers were descended from the Numenorean exiles that fled to Middle-earth with Elendil. No Man may question our resolve… or our honor."

Aragorn studied Denethor's son thoughtfully. "Nay, my Lord Boromir. I would not question your honor, no more so than I would question the honor of my Elven brethren. Perhaps you will understand more fully before your visit here ends." The Ranger rose slowly and stretched his long limbs gracefully, much as a cat does. Boromir had to admire his lean warrior's form. 

"I believe you would make a formidable opponent, or ally. Perhaps I can persuade you to journey to Gondor with me? There is nothing more beautiful in Middle-earth than the sight of the morning sun shining down upon the White Tower of Ecthelion."

"I have seen the White City, long ago. If we are destined to travel together, I shall be glad to accompany you to your homeland. But first you must have the answers for which you traveled so far and suffered so much. Lord Elrond has called for a Council, and I believe you are expected to attend. Until then, I suggest you enjoy your status as an invalid, for I suspect that your time away from battle is rare, soldier of Gondor." Aragorn bowed formally and quietly left the room, leaving Boromir staring thoughtfully after him. 

****

To be continued


	8. A Good Beginning

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

I have allowed Boromir to arrive in Rivendell a week before the Council instead of the day of the Council because he was injured and needed time to rest and heal. This chapter's purpose is to show the close friendship that could have developed had Boromir never learned that Aragorn was the heir to the throne of Gondor. 

A Good Beginning

The heir to the Stewardship of Gondor was seated in a high-backed chair on his room's balcony. His broken leg was propped upon a plump cushion that rested upon an ottoman covered with a rather intriguing tapestry. The heavy fabric was woven with brightly colored threads and depicted a forest scene. In the forest, ethereal creatures frolicked about naked. Because of the cumbersome splint on his leg, Boromir could not examine the ottoman closely enough to determine exactly what those creatures were up to. He supposed, however, it was something sexual, for he had heard stories about the promiscuity of Elves. It certainly would not surprise him if the scene depicted all sorts of debaucheries.

The sound of someone clearing his throat interrupted the Man's reverie. Mithrandir was standing at the entrance to the balcony, regarding Boromir solemnly. "You look much better today. A week's rest in Lord Elrond's care is exactly what you needed. May I join you?" Boromir nodded and the wizard settled his large frame into one of the chairs that adorned the spacious balcony. "I have that letter sent by the Lord Faramir. Before you read it, however, there is a tale that must be told. I would put this off until after you are better rested, but I believe you need to know these things before the convening of the Council, which is set for tomorrow. Aragorn will be there, so you will know at least one other person. The Ranger can be trusted. He is a Man who has traveled far and seen much that is evil. He would be a loyal friend, and you are in need of friends."

Boromir studied Mithrandir closely. The wizard's grim visage made his stomach clench tightly. Something definitely was wrong at home. Seeing the Man's worried look, Mithrandir sighed softly. "I wish I could say that the news is not all that bad, but I fear that it is… or was. There was great hope when I left that things would soon return to normal, or as close to normalcy as they could."

Denethor's son was fidgeting with the signet ring on his left hand. When the wizard stopped talking, he spoke rapidly. "Tell me what has happened? Has the White City suffered some grave blow by the enemy?" Mithrandir's eyes reflected pity for him and Boromir felt uncomfortable beneath that gaze. Agitated, he moved as though to rise, but the wizard stood quickly and placed a large hand upon his shoulder. 

"Do not fret, son of Denethor. Although darkness was allowed to worm its evil way into the very heart of Minas Tirith, it has now been cast out. Your brother and Prince Imrahil have things well in hand."

Boromir frowned. "You say Faramir and my uncle have things well in hand, but this is my father's duty. He is the Steward of Gondor. You had best tell me the entire tale and quickly. Delay any longer with these obscure references to something having happened to the Lord Denethor, and I shall rise from this chair and shake the truth from you!" The Man's hands were clenched tightly into fists, and he shook with suppressed tension.

"I apologize. It is cruel of me to torment you thusly. This is a difficult story to tell, and I have procrastinated long enough. It all began the night of the wedding feast for you and the Princess Eledwhen. The night she left Minas Tirith. However, since you already know of those events, I shall skip ahead to things you do not know." Slowly Mithrandir spoke of things Faramir had reported to him, with one exception. He did not tell Denethor's son that his father was the one who raped the Princess. If she had not told him, it was not his place to do so. Boromir did not interrupt the wizard's tale, but remained grimly silent except for an occasional groan of horror.

"I must return home as soon as possible! This is a burden to be borne by the Steward's heir. At the very least, my brother should not have to bear it alone."

The wizard, who had been perched atop the balcony rail during the telling of his tale, moved swiftly to the Man and knelt stiffly beside him. "Your brother is not alone. Your uncle, the Prince of Dol Amroth, remains by his side. Together they make a formidable alliance. I have no fear that the White City is well."

"Have you heard anything of my father? Has any word reached Imladris of his fate?" Mithrandir shook his grayed head and rose slowly. He withdrew a letter from a pocket hidden inside the folds of his robe.

"Read this. Perhaps it will help still your fears. Afterward, if you have questions, send for me." Boromir accepted the letter with fingers that trembled almost imperceptibly. The wizard bestowed a sympathetic look upon the Man before taking his leave. Gondor's heir did not notice; he already was deeply engrossed in Faramir's letter.

* * * * * * * * *

"Please be assured, Brother, that all that can be done for Father will be done. Though I cannot say how the Steward will be once he awakens, I have high hopes that the strength that has served him so well during these horrible dark years will sustain him now. As to the identity of the Man who attacked the Princess… I shall not speak his name now. If Eledwhen has not told you, it is not right you hear it from me. I pray that you both are safe and well, and that you return home soon. The city needs you. I need you."

The letter was signed _Faramir, Acting Steward of Gondor_. Boromir closed his eyes and tilted his head against the back of the chair. The warm sun helped quell the chills that wracked his weary body. _I should never have left Gondor, but insisted that the Princess return with me to Minas Tirith. Had I been there, I could have stopped this madness. I would have seen that something was wrong with Father and done…_ What? What could he possibly have done to prevent the tragic events? Even knowing the truth of what had befallen his father, he could hardly believe it. _If Faramir, with his insight, could not perceive the evil wrestling for control of the Steward, then how could I? _

Boromir finally fell into a sleep troubled with visions of the Prince of Rohan chained and bloodied in the dungeons of the Citadel. The visions shifted and he saw his father bent over a large globe, his face lit a fiery red from the glow within. Boromir's vision was then filled with that bright red light; from its center formed a yellow eye that seemed to stare straight into his soul. Dimly Boromir heard a dark whisper. _I offer you greatness and power beyond your imagining. Return to me what is mine._ With a mighty effort, Boromir pulled back from that merciless gaze and awoke to find the Ranger standing beside his chair.

"Are you all right? You are bathed in sweat and flushed. Shall I send for the Lord Elrond?" Weakly, Boromir shook his head. 

"Nay, I am fine. It was naught but a nightmare. I received some rather disturbing news and, doubtless, it was that which fueled my dreams. I thank you for your concern. Will you sit and speak with me for a spell? I could use some company." Aragorn nodded and moved to a table upon which a silver tray had been set while the Lord Boromir slept. The former poured some wine into a silver cup and handed it to the shaken Man. 

"Drink. It will help chase the bad dreams away." Boromir smiled gratefully and took the cup from the Ranger's hand. Aragorn poured himself a cup of the fragrant wine before moving to a chair opposite the other Man. He sank into the chair, crossed his long legs and settled back comfortably. Raising his cup in a toast, the Ranger said, "To your health, son of Denethor. May you have better luck in the days to come."

Boromir laughed mirthlessly. "I shall certainly drink to that." Both Men remained silent for several minutes as they savored the taste of the fine red wine. Aragorn, who had been staring into his cup, lost deeply in thought, looked up and saw that Boromir, too, seemed far away thinking, perhaps, of the news delivered by the letter on his lap. Boromir's sight refocused and he followed the Ranger's gaze to the letter. "A missive from my brother. Things at home are not as they should be."

Aragorn uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Gandalf hinted as much but would, of course, say nothing directly. If you wish a sympathetic ear, I am at your service. I have had much practice at keeping secrets, if you do not wish others to know the contents of that letter." Boromir scrutinized the Ranger intently, trying to take the measure of the Man. Slowly he nodded. 

"I believe you to be an honorable person and one who can be trusted. The wizard, whom you name Gandalf, has spoken highly of you. Were my brother here, I would confide in him. But he is not and I am in need of a confidant. Our ancestors shared the same blood, and it is not likely that the Lord of Imladris would trust you with his son's life were you not worthy. The wizard says you have seen much evil in your travels. Perhaps, then, you can understand things I do not." Boromir gave the Ranger an abridged version of events he had learned from the letter and from Mithrandir. Aragorn kept a neutral expression upon his face, occasionally murmuring words of encouragement when Gondor's heir faltered, overwhelmed by sudden rushes of emotions. When Boromir fell silent, Aragorn leaned back in the chair and steepled long, graceful fingers to his face. He finally ventured a few carefully chosen words.

"I sense that you have doubts that the Dark Lord could bend your father's mind to his bidding. Would you prefer to believe the Steward of Gondor acted of his own free will?"

Boromir shuddered involuntarily. "Nay! Rather would I believe that my father was an innocent puppet, with the Nameless One pulling the strings. To say otherwise would be to condemn my father as a hopeless madman! Or worse." Again Boromir shuddered. When he spoke, his voice was softer, more reflective. "I did not know that the Steward possessed one of the Seeing-Stones. My brother and I often speculated as to what he did in the Tower late at night. And he knows things, things that only Faramir and I could possibly know. Things we never shared with another living soul. All these years I believed my father to be possessed of some magical sight."

Aragorn chuckled. "Some would say that the Palantiri are magical. These powerful globes enabled their users to witness events and to communicate with others over great distances. You would not be the first to call this magic."

The Steward's son covered his face with his hands. When he spoke, his voice was muffled. "I always believed my father to be infallible. That he could stand up to anything, no matter how foul. In June, when my brother and I faced the Nazgul on the bridge at Osgiliath, we both quaked at such terrible and pure evil. I was ashamed because I believed my father would never have been frozen at the sight of those things. I still do not know by what miracle Faramir and I managed to survive. I often have asked myself why we were spared when so many died. Do you know that only four survived?"

"Nay, I did not know, though I have heard tales of that battle; of how you and your brother must have been touched by the hands of the Valar themselves. I, too, have seen much evil and many unspeakable horrors. Would that the times were gentler and kinder." Boromir was surprised at the wistful longing he saw in the Ranger's dark eyes. 

"Perhaps you _will _return with me to my city. I should like you to meet my brother. You two should get along famously, for you are much alike. I should also like you to meet my father. Perhaps he will be well when I return."

Aragorn looked sympathetically upon Gondor's heir. He did not want to speak of his years of service to that land, or of his acquaintance with Ecthelion's son. Some things were best left unsaid. "We shall see where fate takes us. For now, be content that Gandalf was able to save the day, and that Rohan and Gondor were spared a crippling war. For now, I must bid you good day, Lord Boromir." The Ranger placed his hand firmly upon Boromir's shoulder before leaving. Somehow, the companionable gesture made the Man of Gondor feel much better, as though a heavy load had been lifted from his shoulders. _I feel there is more to this Ranger than meets the eye. He definitely bears watching._

****

To be continued


	9. Making Merry

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

This chapter deals with the feast the night before the Great Council. It is told from Boromir's point of view. I used Tolkien's descriptions, though not verbatim. Boromir and Aragorn have developed the beginnings of a good friendship. I have included Elrond's sons. I know that Tolkien did not have them in Rivendell at the time of the feast or the Council, but I feel they add something to this plot. 

Making Merry

The Last Homely House was filled with the ringing of many bells. The melodious sounds echoed throughout the Lord Elrond's home, summoning one and all to a celebration. The Ring Bearer had recovered and a great feast had been prepared in his honor. 

Aragorn stood just inside the entrance to Boromir's chamber; he had volunteered to escort Gondor's heir to the feast. Now he stood and watched as his rival for the rule of the greatest nation in Middle-earth fastened his rich, fur-lined cloak with a silver brooch upon which the white tree of Gondor had been etched. Aragorn decided that the Man looked every inch the ruler he had been trained to be. 

Boromir sensed he was being studied and looked up quickly. His gaze was met and held for a few seconds by the clear gray eyes of the Ranger of the North. "What are you thinking?"

"That you will be a strong Steward when your time comes." Boromir quickly turned his head and busied himself with searching for a cane that had been specially made for him by the Elves. He did not want the Ranger to see the surprise he felt at the unexpected compliment. His father had repeatedly warned that a successful ruler never let anyone see his emotions or guess what he was thinking. To hide his discomfort at the compliment, Boromir changed the subject. "This celebration. Do you know the purpose for it?" 

Aragorn laughed. The lightness of the sound made Boromir feel a bit envious. It had been a long time since he had laughed so gaily. "Elves need no reason to throw a celebration. In truth, they celebrate almost anything and everything -- the rising of the sun, the setting of the same, the dawn of spring -- Elves are lighthearted and love to sing and make merry. However, there is a special occasion for this particular feast. An honored guest was gravely injured and is now recovered. Even as yourself. So you could say we celebrate the good fortune of those whose journey to Rivendell was marred by injury, but whose recovery from those injuries has been most satisfactory." Boromir fixed the other with a curious stare.

"Who is this other 'honored guest' and how was he injured?" 

Aragorn smiled enigmatically. "Come with me if you wish to know. You are in need of some lighthearted entertainment, and the Lord of Imladris is famous for his hospitality." 

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir stood beneath the great arch that marked the entrance to the hall of Elrond's house. His jaw dropped slightly as he beheld the fair folk that filled the enormous space. Most of the guests were Elves bedecked in their finest raiment. The vibrant colors of their clothes and the rich hues of their hair made the hall shimmer and glow, much as a rainbow against a blazing blue sky. The Ranger touched Boromir's arm lightly and nodded his head toward the folk seated at a long table upon a dais. Boromir saw the Lord Elrond seated in a great chair at the end of the table. On his left sat the old wizard; on his right sat an Elf with hair of shining gold. The Elf's face was fair and young; his eyes bright and keen. When his gaze fell upon the son of Denethor, it seemed it held the wisdom of the ages. The Man could only stare in awe.

Aragorn followed Boromir's gaze, leaned close and whispered, "That is Glorfindel, one of the Elven-wise. He is a lord of the Eldar from beyond the furthest seas -- one of the mighty of the First-born. I doubt you shall see another like him in your lifetime. Excuse me for a moment, for I see someone with whom I must speak." Aragorn bowed slightly and moved soundlessly away. Boromir soon lost sight of him as he vanished into the throng of merrymakers. Turning his gaze back to the table on the dais, Boromir studied his host. Like most of the Elves, Elrond's face was ageless. His hair was as dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon it was set a circlet of silver. He looked very wise and noble.

Boromir caught sight of the Ranger again and watched as he approached a chair beneath a canopy. On the chair sat a lady so fair to look upon that the Man forgot to breathe. Her luxurious dark hair was braided and, above her brow, her head was covered with a cap of silver lace netted with small white gems that glittered in the torchlight. Her pale, smooth skin was flawless; her form was slender and graceful. But it was her eyes that drew him to her mostly, for he thought he saw the light of stars in bright eyes as gray as a cloudless night. Boromir felt a pang of jealousy to see that the Ranger seemed to have more than a passing acquaintance with the beautiful lady. He watched as the Man lightly placed his hand upon her shoulder as he bent to listen to her words. Their gaze was intimate and she favored the Ranger with a smile so radiant it rivaled the brilliance of the sun. _Who is this wondrous creature? She clearly bears a close resemblance to the Lord Elrond, so perhaps she is his kinswoman._

"I see you are admiring Lord Elrond's daughter, the Lady Arwen." Boromir jumped slightly, for he had not sensed the presence of the one who spoke. He turned his head until he could see the Elf who stood beside him. He was surprised to see Haldir. "I thought you would be walking the Golden Woods by now, Master Elf. Have you decided to join me on my journey homeward?"

Haldir shook his head and produced a rueful smile. "Nay, I leave after the Council. I would have left sooner but the Lord Elrohir convinced me to accompany him on a scouting mission. It has been many years since I have seen the sons of Elrond, and I could not refuse the chance to catch up on the gossip of Imladris."

Boromir looked at the Elf speculatively. "And did you, in turn, share recent events in Lorien with your companions?" 

Haldir assumed the indignant expression of one who has been grievously wronged. "I have said naught of that which concerns you and your lady, if that if the subject of your concern. I value Eledwhen's friendship too highly to risk losing it by the spreading of idle gossip. Have no fear, Man of Gondor, your secret is safe with me; although, I see no reason to keep your wife a secret. Unless, perhaps…" Haldir's eyes strayed to the Lady Arwen as he spoke. Boromir followed his gaze across the room and then scowled fiercely as the inference sank deep.

"I have said naught because I do not wish to bring dishonor upon the one I love. We have not been wed, and I would not have others speak ill of the Princess Eledwhen."

Haldir grinned broadly and slapped the Man on his back. "You _are_ married, you great oaf! You two pledged yourselves both verbally and physically to remain one for the rest of your lives. That is all it takes under Elven law. If you choose to remarry under mortal laws, that is your business. But do not worry about your lady's honor, for she is your wife legally and I would kill any folk who said differently." 

Boromir was surprised and more than a little pleased to hear Haldir defend Eledwhen so vehemently. He started to ask the Elf why he had not been told this rather important piece of information sooner, but stopped when he saw Aragorn motion for him to join those on the dais. "I would continue this conversation at a later time," the Man said solemnly. Haldir produced an overly exaggerated bow and moved away swiftly to join two Elves who were as close in looks as two peas in a pod. With a start, he realized that he was looking at two Elladans. Moving his gaze back to the Ranger and the Elf beside him, Boromir gave a slight nod of his head in acknowledgement and began picking his way through the crowd. Since most of those attending the feast were Elves, the Man felt like a bull charging through a field of wheat, which was to say he felt incredibly ungraceful. 

Upon reaching Aragorn's side, Boromir bowed respectfully toward Arwen. "Your beauty literally takes my breath away, my lady." 

Elrond's daughter smiled prettily and turned her lovely eyes upon the Ranger. "You were wrong, my love. He is quite the charmer." Turning to look at their guest from the South, who was blushing furiously and doing a poor job of hiding it, Arwen motioned for him to sit next to her. Boromir sat somewhat awkwardly, (thanks to his leg still being in a splint) and placed the delicately carved cane to the side of the chair. He looked at the lady beside him, but her attention had been drawn to a small child-like figure being seated across the table. Boromir scrutinized the newcomer closely and noticed that, although he had been seated upon several cushions, his shoulders were still only even with the tabletop. Whatever this creature was, it looked very small seated among all the tall folk, and very out of place. "It is called a Hobbit, and this feast is in his honor," offered the Lady Arwen helpfully before turning her attention to Aragorn. 

As Boromir continued his study of the Hobbit, a richly garbed dwarf of important appearance sat down on the creature's right. The dwarf's white beard was very long and forked. The Man strained to hear their conversation, but could discern nothing other than the initial greeting by the dwarf of "Welcome and well met!" Disappointed, Boromir turned his attention back to the Lady Arwen. _She is more beautiful than Eledwhen in some ways, but not so beautiful in other ways. But then, to compare the two is akin to comparing night and day, for Eledwhen is as bright and pure and as radiant as the day, while the Lady Arwen is as dark and mysterious and as lovely as the night._ The lady turned her head and bestowed upon him a beatific smile. Gently she placed a delicate white hand upon his arm and whispered, "You must tell me of your lady love sometime."

The Man began to stammer a reply but Arwen stopped him with a silvery laugh. "There is no need for embarrassment. I cannot read your thoughts, but only catch the occasional feelings of strong emotion and what lies behind those feelings. I sense that you are in love and that you miss her greatly. But we shall, perhaps, speak of this later. You should eat, for your plate remains untouched. You are missing some of the greatest cooking in all Middle-earth." Wanting to please this gracious lady, Boromir picked up his fork and set to his plate. 

* * * * * * * * *

The feast finally came to an end, and Elrond and Arwen went down the hall arm in arm. Aragorn moved to Boromir's chair and handed him the Elven-made cane. "Hurry or you will miss the singing and story-telling." Boromir frowned and shook his head from side to side.

"I believe I will skip the merriment. I am tired and would prefer to rest. I will need my strength tomorrow, for I hear the Council will most likely last the entire day. I understand from speaking with the Lord Elrond that I will learn the answer to my riddle. Since it is for this reason that I spent approximately three months on the road, I believe I should make certain I am not asleep when the meaning is revealed."

Aragorn grinned and offered Boromir help rising from the chair. However, the Man dismissed him with a wave. "You are more needed elsewhere. I believe there is a beautiful lady who desires your company. I would not leave her waiting too long, if I were you. There are many Elves about and all are more comely to look at than are you. Do not give them a chance to encroach upon what territory you have claimed."

The Ranger roared with laughter, managed to speak his leave taking, and then disappeared down the hall in the direction taken by Elrond and his daughter. Boromir began the long walk back to his chamber, serenaded by the sound of elvish minstrels making sweet music. 

* * * * * * * * *

Gondor's heir was in sight of his chamber when he heard loud arguing. Curious, he stopped to listen. Boromir could make out two male voices that could only belong to Elves. "I tell you that there will be trouble when he learns who Estel is. Father should not permit him to attend the Council tomorrow."

The voice of the second Elf sounded somewhat piqued. "Elladan, the Lord of Imladris cannot snub the Steward's son because you are afraid he may pick a fight with our foster brother. And even should he be so brash as to challenge Estel to a sword fight, I doubt he could win. His leg is broken, you ninny!"

Boromir moved closer to where the two voices emanated. The owners of those voices were standing in an alcove and were hidden from the Man's sight. Boromir remembered Elladan, who had been with the party that had escorted him and Haldir to Imladris. But he was perplexed as to why the Elf would think he would be interested in challenging this _Estel_ to a fight. Especially as they called him their foster brother. _Elladan insults me, for no Man of Gondor would bring shame upon himself by fighting with his host's son, whether he is a son by blood or no. _Boromir started to approach the two brothers to confront them, but was distracted by a loud crashing noise at the opposite end of the hallway. He heard what sounded like an elvish curse and decided that the confrontation could wait until after the Council. 

The Man limped stiffly into his chamber, unaware that Elladan had stepped into the hallway and was watching him. Elrohir moved beside him and followed his brother's gaze. "I think you are being too judgmental. He is not a fool."

Elladan looked gravely at his twin brother. "Yet he is Denethor's son. That makes him a danger to Aragorn. I shall watch him closely, even if you will not." 

Elrohir watched his brother stalk noiselessly down the hallway. Once the other was out of sight, his eyes shifted to the entrance to Boromir's chamber. _How much of our conversation did he hear, I wonder? _Sighing, Elrond's younger son walked slowly toward the Hall of Fire, where the celebration was now well under way.

****

To be continued


	10. Riddles in the Dark Revealed

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

At the beginning of this chapter, the Council of Elrond has been going on for most of the morning. Boromir relates his account of the fall of Osgiliath, his encounter with the Ringwraiths, and the dream that had plagued him and his brother since that encounter. Boromir's reaction to Aragorn's heritage is not a happy one. I have used some of Tolkien's dialogue exactly as he wrote it; some of the dialogue I paraphrased. A lot of the dialogue is out of my own imagination. I hope you like the way I wove the three together to fit into my own plot.

Riddles in the Dark Revealed

Boromir found himself occasionally nodding off as he was forced to endure long-winded accounts of events in the world that were of no particular interest to himself. The dwarf's tale he found somewhat interesting, for Gloin spoke of the awakening of "the nameless fear." Boromir let his attention wander until he heard the word "ring." He then sat up straight in his chair and listened attentively.

The dwarf had been explaining how a horseman, who identified himself as a messenger for Sauron, had appeared in the night to speak with Dain, King of Durin's folk. Gloin told of the messenger's request for information about "a little ring, the least of rings" that had been stolen by a Hobbit. Although Dain had not seen fit to answer the request, he was worried about the potential threat from Mordor should he continue his present course. 

"Twice the messenger has returned and has gone unanswered. The third and last time, so he says, is soon to come, before the ending of the year." Gloin looked at one of the Hobbits and smiled kindly before turning his gaze upon the Lord Elrond. "And so I have been sent by Dain to warn Bilbo that he is sought by the Enemy and to learn, if may be, why he desires this ring, this least of rings." Gloin looked expectantly at the Lord of Imladris.

Elrond's face was grim and his voice even grimmer. "We thank you for this information and for the warning. This may be of little comfort to you and your people, but I say that you do not stand alone in your defiance of the Nameless One. In good time you shall learn all you need to know concerning the purposes of the Enemy, for there are many here who have had dealings with his servants."

Gloin shook his grizzled head and growled a question. "What of this ring that the Dark Lord seeks? What importance does it hold for him that his mouthpiece rides so far from Mordor in search of it?"

Elrond looked down at the dwarf. "That is the true purpose of this Council, to reveal the truth about this "least of rings" that Sauron so strongly covets." And so Elrond began the tale of Sauron and the Rings of Power and their forging in the Second Age. After what seemed an eternity to Boromir, who was becoming extremely uncomfortable sitting in the hard, straight-backed chair, Elrond finally came to the part of his story that concerned Isildur. "Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand with the hilt-shard of his father's sword and took it for his own."

Boromir stirred in his chair and leaned forward eagerly. "So that is what became of the Ring," he cried. "I have heard of the Great Ring of him that we do not name, but we in Gondor believe that it perished from the world in the ruin of his first realm. Isildur took it! This is tidings indeed. Now do I see the importance of the Lord Gloin's tale, for I perceive the truth of this 'least of rings' spoken of by the messenger."

Elrond gave the Man a sharp look before turning his gaze upon the faces of those about him. Each contained an expectant look mixed with dread. The Elven Lord sighed inwardly before continuing his tale. At last he spoke of the realm of Gondor in the South and of its long struggle to endure against the forces of darkness. He touched briefly upon the evil things that took Minas Ithil and dwelt in it and named it Minas Morgul, the Tower of Sorcery. "Then Minas Anor was named anew Minas Tirith, the Tower Guard, and these two cities were ever at war. But Osgiliath, which lay between, was deserted and in its ruins shadows walked." Elrond turned to Boromir. "So it has been for many lives of Men, but the Lords of Minas Tirith still fight on. Now, to our great sorrow, the One has been found. Others shall speak of its finding, for in that I played small part.

"But first we must hear from the Lord Boromir, who has come all the way from Minas Tirith to hear the answer to a dream that haunts both him and his brother." Saying this, Elrond motioned the Man of Gondor to take the floor. Boromir rose slowly, keeping a firm grip upon his cane, and took the place vacated by his host. He stared at those about him, letting his gaze linger upon the face of the Ranger of the North. There was something in Aragorn's expression that Boromir found unsettling. Slowly he turned his gaze back upon the Lord Elrond.

"The news from my homeland is grim, for we are constantly harried and set upon by the minions of the Nameless One. In June, terrible creatures -- I since have learned were vile servants called Ringwraiths -- won the passage of the bridge of Osgiliath and dispersed northward. My brother, Faramir, and I were able to drive back the enemy and destroy the bridge, where we almost met our doom. We lost all but four who fought for Osgiliath, and yet we remain steadfast in our resolve to rid Middle-earth of this evil.

"Our numbers dwindle, however, and little help have we earned from those whose lands have been spared by the spilling of our blood. Gondor will fight on until the last of her sons falls in battle. And when that day comes, the dark tide will sweep across the lands to our north and all shall be destroyed or come under the dominion of Mordor. I shall not live to see this happen, I think, but the thought of all that is good dying so tragically makes my blood run cold." Boromir fell silent and it seemed he would not speak again.

Elrond prodded him to continue. "The hour grows late, son of Denethor, and we would hear of the dream that has plagued you since the fall of Osgiliath."

Boromir's eyes refocused and he lifted his proud head. Squaring his shoulders, the Man began the tale of the dream. "On the eve of the sudden assault of Osgiliath a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep. Afterward a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me. In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growling thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:

__

Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand.

"Long did my brother search for answers to this dream in the libraries of Gondor, finding nothing but frustration. He asked leave of my father, the Steward of Gondor, to seek Imladris and the riddle's answer. But my father remained steadfast in his refusal until certain events forced me to undertake the journey. Of those events I shall not speak of here, for they be of a personal nature."

At this bit of news, Aragorn looked speculatively at the Man, wondering what portentous event could have forced Gondor's Captain-General to leave his country in crisis and seek the counsel of Elves. He looked at Haldir, but the Elf's expression was unreadable; he sat ramrod straight in his chair, his gaze locked upon the Man of Gondor. Aragorn turned his attention back to Boromir in time to hear him say: "Long was the road I wandered. I was pursued by evil and injured twice, once near to death. But of these things I shall say no more, for I am here and alive and seek answers, not pity."

Aragorn knew the time had finally come for him to reveal to Boromir his true identity. He had dreaded the coming of this day because he feared it would mean the end of their blossoming friendship. But Isildur's heir was not one to shrink from unpleasant tasks and so he stood and cast his sword upon the table that stood before Elrond. "Here is the blade that was broken," he said quietly.

Boromir's expression was one of surprise and uncertainty. He looked slowly from the blade on the table to Aragorn's face and back again. "How is it that a Ranger carries Elendil's sword, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith?" He watched the other's face closely and noted the sadness that flickered briefly across it.

"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," said Elrond, "and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur, Elendil's son of Minas Ithil."

Boromir was stunned into silence and he took two steps away from the Ranger. His eyes narrowed and suspicion glinted there for all to read. "I knew that there was more to you than met the eye, yet never would I have thought you to be deceitful." The Man's tone of voice was filled with the anger of betrayal. His gray eyes were hard as steel as he stared unflinchingly into the eyes of his erstwhile friend. 

The heavy silence was broken finally by the light voice of one of the Hobbits. "Then it belongs to you and not to me at all!" cried out Frodo. Boromir looked at the creature that had been seated across the table from him the night before during the feast. His jaw dropped and he looked to Elrond for an explanation.

"Bring out the Ring, Frodo!" It was Gandalf who spoke. "The time has come. Hold it up and then Boromir will understand the remainder of his riddle."

The Hobbit reluctantly drew forth a round golden ring that gleamed and flickered as he held it up before the members of the Council. All noted how his hand trembled. "Behold Isildur's Bane!" cried Elrond.

Boromir looked in amazement from the Ring to the small creature that held it. "The Halfling," he muttered. Looking back to Elrond, he cried: "Is this then the doom of Minas Tirith come at last? But why then should we seek a broken sword? And what proof is there that _this_ is Isildur's heir?" He looked challengingly at Aragorn as he asked the last question.

Elrond stiffened and started to speak, but it was Aragorn who answered. "The words were not _the doom of Minas Tirith, _but that doom and great deeds are at hand. For the Sword that was Broken is the Sword of Elendil that broke beneath him when he fell. Now that you have seen the sword that you have sought, what would you ask? Do you wish for the House of Elendil to return to the Land of Gondor?"

Boromir's voice was barely under control when he spoke. "I want nothing from a Man who befriends another under false pretenses. Nor did I come here to beg any boon. I came for answers, and answers I have found. As soon as I am able to ride, I will return to my homeland and continue to defend her until my dying day."

An Elf dressed in green and brown jumped up out of his chair and quickly moved to stand beside Aragorn. "You should not speak with such disrespect to your future King." Aragorn groaned softly and stilled the Elf with a sharp look.

Boromir's eyes narrowed to slits. "I shall never call this Man 'King.' Nor will I support him against my father. Do not presume, Aragorn, that you can stroll into the White City and claim her for your own with nothing but old legends to back you. I have earned my birthright by fighting and bleeding for the nation that I love. What right have you to lay claim to the country I have protected most of my life?"

Aragorn said nothing. He felt wretched and wished he had been open about his heritage from the beginning. He had not because he hoped they would become friends, thereby preventing the ugly scene everyone at the Council now bore witness to. "Enough," Elrond said, his voice harsh. "This is a matter to be settled another time and in another place. I will not allow petty jealousy to deviate us from our true purpose. Lord Boromir, if you cannot conduct yourself in a manner befitting your station, I must ask that you leave this Council."

It took every ounce of control he possessed, but Boromir managed a formal bow to both his host and his rival. Gathering his dignity about him like a cloak, he limped back to his chair and sat down. He looked up and caught Aragorn gazing at him with a look that was a mixture of pity and regret. It was the pity Boromir saw in the Ranger's face that made him swear he would see Aragorn dead rather than allow him to be crowned King of Gondor. He turned his head and his gaze fell upon the Halfling with the ring. "Lord Elrond. You say that Isildur's Bane has been found, but how do we know that this ring is the One? I have seen a bright ring in the Halfling's hand, but I do not know that it is the same as Isildur cut from the hand of the Dark Lord. How do the Wise know that this ring is his? I would have proof, since I doubt that such a great treasure would have fallen into the hands of so strange a messenger."

"I believe it is time for Bilbo to tell his tale," said Gandalf, looking toward the older Hobbit. And so Bilbo told, for the first time, the true tale of his finding of the Ring. And after him, Gandalf explained how he had determined that the Ring was, indeed, the One crafted by Sauron in the Second Age. 

And so the Council continued and much was revealed, but Boromir, in the bitterness of his rage, heard only snatches of this and that. Often he looked at Aragorn from beneath hooded lids, his anger building, fueled by his belief that the Ranger had only been friendly with him to…what? Surely the Man did not believe that the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor would help a stranger usurp his father's rule. And, too, he had liked Aragorn; had been drawn to him as a kindred spirit. He felt as relaxed around the Ranger as he was with Faramir, which made the Man's betrayal that much more insidious. _I must return to Minas Tirith as soon as possible to warn Father against the coming of Isildur's heir. I not only have my own birthright to protect, but that of my son. _

Boromir was so absorbed in his own tortured thoughts that he almost did not hear Elrond when he pronounced the fate of the One Ring. A startled gasp snapped him back to the present in time to hear the Lord of Imladris say, "We must send the Ring to the Fire."

Everyone fell silent. Boromir looked upon those in the room with disbelief. He frowned and finally found his voice. "It is folly and madness to even think about destroying this Ring, for it is our only chance to defeat the Nameless One. If the Elves do not have the stomach to use this power, then give it to the race of Men. We are not frightened by children's stories or ancient legends."

Elrond blinked rather owlishly before gaining control of himself. He knew better than to be shocked by anything said by a Man. "And whom would you suggest we choose to carry the burden of the Ring?"

"I will carry this 'smallest of rings' if no one else has the courage or good sense to do so. It is a tool to be used to save Middle-earth. It would be folly to throw it into the fire and end all our chances for survival!" Boromir was breathing heavily and a hint of desperation glinted in his gray eyes.

"Have you heard nothing? You cannot wield the Ring. None of us can! The Ring answers only to Sauron. It must be destroyed." Aragorn spoke rather more sharply than he had intended, but he needed to make Gondor's heir understand their situation. He could tell by the stubbornness blazing in Boromir's eyes that he did not accept the need for the Ring's intended fate.

"I ask only that you give me the means to defend my people. We are near the end of our strength and yet we somehow manage to fight on. The One Ring is the only hope for Gondor that I can see, and you say to cast it into the Fires of Mount Doom. If this is wisdom, then I am an orc." Boromir turned to face Aragorn, who stood only a few feet from him. Boromir's gaze was challenging, as though he dared Isildur's heir to disagree with him. 

Finally, Boromir spoke directly to the Ranger. "If you are truly Isildur's heir, you would support my position to use the Ring to save _our_ people. For if we do nothing, there will be no kingdom for you to rule. What say you to that, son of Arathorn?"

Aragorn ignored the Man's sarcastic tone and answered levelly. "I say that we must listen to those who have lived much longer than have we. Elrond was with Elendil and Isildur during the Last Alliance when Sauron was overthrown. The Lord of Imladris survived the Black Years and learned much that can help us defeat the Enemy in his new guise. I say it would be _folly_ to ignore his advice." 

Boromir next turned to Elrond, his hard features softening. When he spoke, his tone was almost plaintive. "I do not understand all this. Why should we not think that the Great Ring has come into our hands to serve us in the very hour of our need? Wielding it, the Free Lords of the Free may surely defeat the Enemy. That is what he most fears, I deem. I say take the Ring and go forth to victory!"

Elrond shook his head sadly. He knew that if Boromir could not be made to see the folly of wielding the Ring, his leave-taking of Imladris would be a bitter one indeed. "We cannot use the Ruling Ring. It belongs to Sauron and was made by him alone, and it is altogether evil. Its strength, Boromir, is too great for anyone to wield at will, save only those who have already a great power of their own." To forestall the eager question he saw in the Man's eyes, Elrond rushed his next words. "But for the Wise, it holds an even deadlier peril. For should someone be strong enough to cast down the Dark Lord, we would then have yet another Dark Lord in his place. And that is another reason why the Ring should be destroyed; as long as it is in the world it will be a danger even to the Wise. I will not take the Ring to wield it."

"Nor will I," Gandalf added. Boromir looked at them doubtfully, his anger simmering just below the surface. He began to twist the signet ring on his left hand. When he spoke, his voice had a hard edge to it.

"If this is the decision of the entire Council, then so be it. I shall return to my homeland and continue to lead my Men in battle. Mayhap the Sword that was Broken may still stem the tide, if the hand that wields it has inherited not an heirloom only, but the sinews of the Kings of Men." Boromir's last words were a direct challenge to Aragorn, who lifted his eyes to hold the gaze of the other and replied softly, "Who can tell? But we will put it to the test one day."

Boromir gave a derisive snort and said bitterly, "May the day not be too long delayed. And may this so-called future King of Gondor be of sterner stuff than Isildur, for had he not taken the Ring for himself, but destroyed it when he had the chance, Gondor would not now be in such a desperate position." Aragorn bowed his head and said nothing. The silence in the room became unbearable. Elrond finally declared that the Ring would be destroyed, and that it was now only a question of who would carry the One Ring into the very heart of Mordor. 

Bilbo spoke up and everyone was amazed and even amused by the old Hobbit's assumption that the Peredhil meant for him to bear the Ring to Mordor. Once it was made clear to Bilbo that his role in the saga was over, everyone looked about to see who next would step forward. There was an uncomfortable silence when no one did. The noon-bell rang, and still no one stirred. Finally, into the loud silence, a small voice was raised. "I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way." 

Boromir gaped at the diminutive Hobbit who stood trembling in the center of those gathered for the Council. For an instant, the Man was tempted to laugh at the absurdity of such a small and defenseless creature undertaking such an enormous task, but the laughter never erupted for he saw that no one else was amused. Instead, their faces were solemn and Boromir could see that all had respect for the Hobbit called Frodo.

"If I understand aright all that I have heard, I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo, and that if you do not find a way, no one will." Elrond's voice resonated deeply about the hall. Again there was silence, until the voice of another Hobbit piped up: "But you won't send him off alone surely, Master?" Elrond smiled at the Hobbit who had spoken.

"No indeed, Master Samwise. You, at least, shall go with him. It is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

Boromir felt lightheaded, as though he was trapped with a group of madmen. He could not believe that the Wise would entrust such a heavy and important responsibility to two small Halflings who had never been out of the Shire before their journey to Rivendell. He groaned, walked heavily to his chair and sat down. "Such madness," he muttered. "Such madness."

Aragorn watched the Steward's son closely. _What would I do were I in his shoes? _he thought wearily. _Would I be able to accept the Council's decision, especially since it could mean the destruction of my homeland?_ The Ranger barely heard Elrond announce a recess. He was trying to understand Boromir's position so that he might appeal to his good senses. Aragorn knew, more than any other, how important the Steward's heir would be in his struggle to claim the throne of Gondor. 

Boromir glanced up and caught the Ranger's intense gaze. His eyes narrowed and his noble features formed into a scowl. Slowly he rose and made his way, alone, to his chamber.

* * * * * * * * * 

Boromir was standing on the balcony off his bedchamber when he sensed someone behind him. Instinctively he clutched the hilt of the dagger he always kept on his belt. "So, you are returning to Lothlorien." He heard a light chuckle and knew he had correctly guessed the identity of his visitor.

"You are beginning to develop elvish traits. The Lady Galadriel will be pleased." Haldir moved soundlessly onto the balcony. "How did you know it was me?"

The Man chuckled and turned to face the Tree Elf. "I was expecting you. I heard someone say you would be leaving ere nightfall and I simply assumed you would want to see if I had any more letters to send to my wife. Tell me, what do you think about the Council's decision?"

Haldir studied Boromir's face intently before shifting his gaze to the high garden above the steep bank of the river. Idly he watched two figures sitting on the porch on the side of the house facing east. Shadows had fallen in the valley below, but there was still light on the faces of the two lovers. A swift smile pulled at the corners of the Elf's mouth before he turned to face the Man beside him. The smile was quickly replaced by a frown as he studied Boromir's face. "What troubles you more? That the Ring will not be used to save Gondor, or that Aragorn will claim the Kingship you have always dreamed of?"

Boromir shook his head and looked away to the east. He stiffened as he saw Aragorn and the Lady Arwen in the garden below. Haldir followed his gaze. "Jealousy does not become you. Besides, I thought the two of you had become friends."

"I do not make friends with those who would destroy my family." Angrily the Man limped to his customary chair and sat down. He fixed Haldir with a cold stare. "Would you have me befriend the one who plots to usurp my father's rule? A Man who would cast my brother and myself out of our home?"

Haldir shook his head vehemently. "You do not know Aragorn well if you can think that of him."

"I know him not at all. Nor do I want to." Boromir's fierce scowl skewed his fair features into an unattractive mask. Haldir felt real concern for the Man's sanity. 

"You must accept what you cannot change. Were you not taught that someday the King would return and the Stewards' reign would end? Has this not been an event all have hoped for?"

"Not all," Boromir said darkly. 

"I should have added 'present company excluded.' Perhaps you should accompany me to the Golden Wood. I planned to leave within the hour, but I could delay my departure until the morn." Haldir looked at the Man sympathetically. He now understood the depth of the emotions churning within Gondor's Favorite Son. What would he do should Estel help defeat the Enemy and claim what had always been beyond the reach of the Man's forefathers?

"I think you should speak with Aragorn. I could tell that you liked him -- before the Council and the revelation of his lineage. I truly believe that, working together, you two can make a difference in the outcome of the struggle ahead. I beg you not to throw away this opportunity over mere Human emotions."

Boromir did not look at Haldir as he mumbled, "I think it is time for you to return to your homeland. Please deliver my letters to Eledwhen, and say nothing to her about what you have learned. I do not want her upset."

Haldir placed a delicately boned hand upon the Man's shoulder and leaned down until his lips were mere inches from Boromir's right ear. "It will make no difference to your lady whether you are a Steward or a common soldier, which you could never be. She loves the Man that you are, not the title that comes with the Man. I wish you good health and good fortune."

Boromir didn't hear the Elf leave. He was wrapped too tightly in his own tortured thoughts. Haldir's last words rang in his mind. _Perhaps he is right. But, if he is, then my life's work has been meaningless and I am no more than a common soldier. And should the war be won? What place in Aragorn's kingdom will there be for the heir of the former Steward?_

He settled his head against the back of his chair, closed his eyes and was soon asleep. His dreams were dark and disturbing. Once again he saw a great lidless eye and heard a disembodied voice. "Bring me what is mine and I shall reward you with that which you desire above all else, King Boromir."

****

To be continued


	11. Adrift in Rivendell

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

I intended to return the reader to Minas Tirith and show how Denethor and Faramir are getting along. However, my muse refused to cooperate, so I moved onto a different topic. My muse definitely preferred that I write about Boromir in Rivendell after the time of the Council. I've always wondered how he and Aragorn managed not to kill one another, except that Tolkien had Aragorn go scouting with Elrond's sons. So what did Boromir do with himself during those nearly two months? I have a suggestion…

Adrift in Rivendell

The Man of Gondor slept little the night after the Council. That one small sentence had thrown his entire life into turmoil: "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur, Elendil's son of Minas Ithil." 

__

What bitter irony that I rode here seeking the salvation of my country, only to meet the one who will rule my country in my place. Boromir laughed dryly as he walked onto the balcony that extended from his bedchamber. For the first time since he had entered Rivendell, he did not notice the land's beauty. His thoughts were centered on his beloved Gondor and his lifelong goal to be her champion, and her leader. The betrayal by one he had come to like and admire was painful. _I even thought to offer him some high command in Gondor's army if he returned home with me. What a fool I am, believing the words of a wizard and a stranger. Yet, there is something about Aragorn that draws one to him. It is not just that he speaks his mind plainly and, it would seem, honestly, he possesses a certain charm. I must travel to Lothlorien as soon as possible. I ache to see Eledwhen again, to feel her soft body beneath mine. And my father…I must return to Minas Tirith as soon as I can make arrangements for Eledwhen to travel. I must not leave such a heavy responsibility upon my brother's shoulders. _

A change in the air about him caused Boromir to whirl about quickly, his hand clasped tightly upon the hilt of his dagger. Aragorn was standing in the archway between the bedchamber and the balcony. He looked hesitant, as one who is uncertain of the manner of his reception. An angry flush crept up Boromir's neck and his eyes narrowed. His hand tightened on the dagger in a death-like grip. "Have you come to gloat, heir of Isildur?" 

Aragorn's expression became infinitely sad. Slowly he moved onto the balcony, keeping a wary eye on the other's dagger. "Do you wish for my death, or that I had never been born?" he asked softly.

Boromir turned his back to Aragorn and slowly eased his hand off the dagger hilt. He placed both hands upon the railing before speaking. "You have not earned the right to be called 'King.' What great deeds have you done? How often have you bled to keep Gondor safe from the darkness? How _dare_ you pretend to be my friend while plotting to steal all that I have ever loved or wanted!" His voice broke as he uttered the last words and he fell into silence. Aragorn moved to stand beside him, pain evident in his gray eyes.

"I hoped we could get to know one another before you found out about my lineage. I wanted you to know me as Strider, the Ranger. Perhaps I was foolish to believe that you would like me well enough not to hate me for who my forefathers were." Boromir shot him a bitter look, limped to the table where a decanter stood and poured himself a glass of ale. He tossed the liquid down his throat in one rough movement, then turned to face Aragorn.

"_Your_ destiny. _Your_ kingdom. _Your_ throne! Where have you been the past 40 years? Not in the forests of Ithilien fighting back the orc hordes. And certainly not at Osgiliath facing the Nazgul. Why have you never protected the land you want to rule?"

Aragorn closed his eyes and dropped his head. When he spoke it was barely above a whisper. Boromir had to strain to hear the words. "I have faced the Nazgul, and more than once. I have served Gondor, in another guise and another time. I served at the pleasure of Ecthelion, and so had the opportunity to come to know your father well. We were not exactly the best of friends."

Boromir gave a strangled snort. "Preposterous! You are no older than am I. What game do you play?" Slowly Aragorn turned to face the Man of Gondor. 

"I am much older than I appear. The blood of Numenor flows strongly through my veins, extending my life. I am almost 70 years old."

Boromir's mouth fell open. He took several steps toward the other man and peered into his face, searching for telltale signs of the other's age. What he saw was a man in his prime, a man who appeared no older than did he. He looked Aragorn directly in the eyes and asked, "Have you the strength of a warrior, or that of a feeble old man?" Aragorn laughed grimly. 

"Do you challenge me to a duel, hoping that you shall prevail and rid yourself of the competition for Gondor's throne?"

"Nay, I am not that foolish, since you stand upon two good legs and I am lame. Nor would I insult my host by fighting with his foster son under his roof. I only seek proof that you are who you say you are, and that you can help me save my land." Aragorn nodded thoughtfully and turned his gaze upon everything he had come to love as his home. 

"I understand your feelings. Your deep love for your homeland. Imladris has been spared the horrors Gondor has endured, but the time is coming when even the power here will fail if we do not stop Sauron. I have spent my entire adult life in the wilds, secretly protecting Middle-earth against an evil I would never have it know. I perceive that my time is at hand, that soon I must prove myself worthy of your country -- and your fealty."

Boromir became agitated and limped back to the table to pour another glass of ale. "Gondor has managed well enough without a king. My father has kept her safe and well protected for many years. He will not turn over his reign to a Ranger of the North without proof of lineage. I warn you, it shall take more than a broken sword to back up your claim to the throne of Gondor. Do not think that the Steward will give up his rule on the say-so of a wizard and an Elf." 

Now it was Aragorn's turn to become angry. He began pacing a small path along the rail. Finally his ire cooled and he caught Boromir in a steely gaze. "I shall prove myself in combat, even as have you. And I shall bleed for Gondor, if it is my fate to do so. The Sword-that-was-Broken will be forged anew and return to Gondor in the hands of Isildur's heir. Are you satisfied?"

"We shall see what we shall see. Gondor lies many hundreds of leagues away and there is much evil about. If you will journey with me to the White City, perhaps I shall see some sign that you are indeed worthy of the title King of Gondor." Boromir's stare was hard and challenging, yet Aragorn did not flinch beneath it. Slowly he allowed a smile to lighten his stern features. 

"You have my word that one day we two shall stand side by side against whatever the Dark Lord throws at us. Shall we call a truce for now? I should hate to travel with you all the way to Minas Tirith wondering when you might choose to cross swords."

"You have my oath that unless you prove false, I will not _directly_ challenge you. But I shall swear no allegiance to you as King of Gondor until I am satisfied of your claim." Aragorn stepped forward and extended his hand. After a slight hesitation, Boromir did the same and the two men clasped one another's forearm. 

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir did not see much of Aragorn during the next few weeks, for the Ranger left Imladris with Elrond's sons. They were searching for news of the Nine Riders. Boromir would have preferred to join the scouting trips, but his broken leg ruled him out. Plus, he was not certain the Elves considered him trustworthy where their precious _Estel_ was concerned. Instead he spent the days working to regain his strength and the use of his left leg. One day he wandered into Elrond's library and was surprised by the maps he saw rolled out upon a large table. Eagerly he studied the drawn representation of the lands between his present location and his homeland.

"I am glad to see you walking with only a slight limp, Lord Boromir." The Man looked up and saw his host. The Elf was almost invisible as he stood in a shadow cast across the room by the setting sun.

"My leg is almost mended and I am eager to be on my way. Perhaps you would be kind enough to lend me a horse?" 

Elrond smiled and moved gracefully to the map table. "Which route seems the swiftest and least dangerous to you? Would you share the knowledge you gained during your recent experience? We seek a path the Fellowship may take." Boromir leaned over the table and studied the map detailing the land between Rivendell and Lothlorien. With one finger he slowly drew an imaginary line from Rivendell to Hollin, and on to the Redhorn Pass. 

"This is the route which brought me here and also the route I would take back. It is approximately 45 leagues from here to the Hollin Ridge, and about a three- to four-day journey from there to the Redhorn Pass. Lorien is a relatively short jaunt farther."

Elrond allowed a momentary smile to cross his solemn features before he quickly erased it. "You seem to have more than a passing acquaintance with the Golden Wood. Would you mind telling me what, or who, draws you back?"

Boromir kept his gaze on the map as he answered, "My wife is there. She was injured during our journey to Imladris. I insisted that she remain with the Lord and Lady of the Galadrim." The Man looked up and caught his host sporting a somewhat shocked expression, which he hastily replaced with his usual serene mask.

"I did not know that you are married. I hope she was not too badly injured." 

The Man turned his gaze back to the map. "She was captured by orcs. She suffered a couple of broken ribs and a concussion, but she was fine when I left. However, I am anxious to return as soon as may be."

"Of course, you are. Anything that you need for the journey, you shall have. My wife, too, was captured by orcs, long ago. They did unspeakable things to her, and she could not bear to remain in Middle-earth." Boromir started to say something comforting, but Elrond waved away his words. "I would not have us speak of such ugly things on so beautiful a day. Too, there is one favor I hoped I might persuade you to do for me."

Boromir sensed that something of life-changing importance was about to be asked of him. He had been bending over the table; now he straightened and prepared to meet his fate head on. "What is it that I can do for the Lord of Imladris?" 

* * * * * * * * *

Once again the Council of Elrond was convened. It was now December 19, nearly two months since the decision on the fate of the Ring. Elrond stood before those gathered and looked each briefly in the eye. "The time has come to decide upon what course we shall take. Do you still hold to your word, Frodo, that you will be the Ring-bearer?"

"I do," said Frodo. "I will go with Sam."

Elrond sighed lightly. "I cannot foresee how your task will be accomplished, or what fate awaits you and your companion. Yet I will choose companions to accompany you as far as they will, or fortune allows." Turning his eyes upon those gathered about him, Elrond intoned, "The number must be few, since our hope is in speed and secrecy. The Company of the Ring shall be Nine, and the Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil."

Boromir's eyes were locked on Frodo as he listened to the Elf name the Nine companions. He was not surprised that the wizard had been chosen. The others were not known to him, except by sight. The Elf who had chastised him during the Council, Legolas, would go, as would the dwarf Gimli, son of Gloin. But when Elrond named Aragorn one of the Nine, Boromir shot out of his seat as though propelled by a bow. He looked accusingly at the other Man.

"Then you will not come to Gondor with me?"

"I will," said Aragorn, "and the Sword-that-was-Broken shall be re-forged ere I set out to war. But the Hobbit's road and our road lie together for many hundreds of miles. Therefore, Boromir, I ask that you also join our Fellowship. I believe that the little ones will need our strength, if not our battle skills."

Boromir nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, I already have pledged my word to the Lord Elrond that I will accompany Frodo until such time as I must turn aside to travel to my city. I will hold you to your oath, Aragorn, that one day you will fight for the people of Gondor."

As Denethor's son contemplated the problems he knew they would face, Elrond chose the two remaining Companions -- Pippin and Merry, Frodo's two other friends from the Shire. "We must delay no longer. If the Ring is to set out, it must go soon. In seven days, the Company must depart."

__

This is such madness; four helpless Hobbits and only an Elf, a wizard and a dwarf to aid them. The only sane choice Elrond made was to include the Ranger and me. Boromir's gaze fell upon Frodo. He felt suddenly out of sorts, then he heard faint whispers in his head. 

Aragorn studied Boromir from across the room. He did not like the paleness of the Man's pallor, or the feverish way he stared at Frodo. _As valiant a Man as the Steward's son is, I sense that he is drawn too strongly to the Ring. I hope that none of us shall rue the day he was chosen to accompany the Ring-bearer._

****

To be continued


	12. The Son Also Rises

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

This chapter returns the reader to Minas Tirith and how Denethor and Faramir are getting along. Keep in mind that Faramir is in love with the Princess Eledwhen. This chapter deals with Faramir's feelings toward his father, as well as Denethor's state of mind after his ordeal with Sauron. Eledwhen makes an appearance in a scene at the end. Something is not right in Lothlorien. 

The Son Also Rises

Faramir was sitting at a huge oak desk in his father's study. For the past few weeks he had been forced by circumstances beyond his control to sit at this desk within his father's sanctuary and run the day-to-day activities of Gondor. He was not used to looking at the room from the Steward's perspective; always he stood on the other side, rigid, hands folded behind his back to hide the slight tremor as he faced his father's wrath. Faramir still did not feel comfortable in the room because it was filled with the ghosts of so many unpleasant memories. Even though he was now a man in his mid-thirties, his father could still intimidate him.

"Woolgathering, boy?" Faramir looked up to see his father standing in the study's entrance; he had not heard the door open. "Were I an assassin, you would be a dead man," Denethor said gravely as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Faramir stifled a groan and stood up.

"Have you spoken with Prince Imrahil, Father?" Faramir watched the Steward walk over to a large table in the center of the room, upon which petitions and various and sundry documents had been spread out. 

"I spent most of last night conferring with the Prince of Dol Amroth over the growing threat to Rohan near the Fords of Isen. Even though the King's daughter and my son were not married before they left Minas Tirith, Gondor is still duty bound to aid its ally when it faces such a strong threat. Especially considering what happened to the Princess of Rohan during her stay here." Faramir bit his lip and stared at his father coldly. Denethor seemed not to notice and continued with his report. "The latest dispatches show that an army is entrenched near Isengard. There is even word that Saruman is behind this force."

Faramir's gaze sharpened. "Is this certain? This is the first I have heard that Saruman may be against Rohan. He has always been considered an ally." 

"That is exactly what the Prince of Dol Amroth said. Although it is only speculation at this point that the wizard in Orthanc is behind this threat to Rohan, I consider it likely. I have never trusted wizards and that includes your friend, Mithrandir."

"Yet it was Mithrandir who released you from the Dark Lord's control. And Saruman is the head of his order. If Mithrandir is not concerned about Saruman's loyalty to Gondor and Rohan, then why would our spies say otherwise?"

Denethor gave his son a dour look and sat in a chair normally used by guests seeking his advice, or to curry his favor. Faramir returned slowly to the Steward's chair. Denethor felt a pang of jealousy as he looked at his youngest son usurping his place. "Mithrandir is a fool. He is blind where members of his own are concerned. But let us dismiss the rumors of the wizard and look to the facts. The dispatches report that an army at least 5,000 strong has set up camp along the banks of the Isen. This army is comprised of orcs and men of Dunland."

Faramir thought for a moment, then added, "Earlier dispatches reported that men of Harad had been spotted as well. Do you believe that an assault on the Rohirrim is imminent?"

Denethor nodded his head gravely but said nothing. Faramir felt uncomfortable because he sensed anger hiding behind his father's calm façade. "Is there something else I should know, Father? I sense your displeasure."

"Do you now? Your powers of perception never fail to amaze me." Denethor's tone was extremely cold and dripped sarcasm. "You sit at my desk, running _my_ city and wonder what there may be to cause me displeasure. I have been blessed with such a _clever_ son."

Faramir stood up so quickly that a book by his hand fell to the floor with a loud thud. His face was flushed. "I sit at this desk because you, in your arrogance, thought you could spy on Mordor with impunity. Did it never cross your mind that the Dark Lord would become aware of your spying, or what it might cost Gondor if he should?"

Denethor laughed mirthlessly. "So, the calf challenges the bull. I suggest you do not let this temporary power you hold turn your head. I am the Steward -- always remember that. I need only convince two more members of the Council to side with me and my mantle will be returned. Your days as acting Steward are numbered. You would be wise not to anger your liege lord."

Faramir swallowed his anger and bent to retrieve the fallen book. He used the time to think of a reply to his Father's implied threat. "When you have been declared well enough to continue your duties as Steward, I shall more than willingly relinquish control. But it will not be a political decision. I must have assurance from your physician that all is well, then Prince Imrahil must agree. Politicians are too easily bought; I do not trust their decision in so crucial a matter."

Denethor's eyes narrowed to slits and his face darkened like the sky before a violent thunderstorm. He stood up abruptly and moved quickly forward. No more than an arm's length from Faramir, he raised his hand to strike. Before the blow could be thrown, Faramir reached out and gripped his father's forearm. "I am no longer a child that can be beaten into submission. I am the acting Steward of Gondor and my duty is clear. Until I decide that you are no longer a threat to the city and its inhabitants, I will remain in control. Plot with as many politicians as you like. I am in command of the Tower Guard and Gondor's army. Too, Uncle Imrahil has 500 swan-knights at his beck and call."

Denethor turned so red that Faramir feared he might have a stroke on the spot, yet the older man remained immobile and silent. When he finally spoke, it was no more than a sibilant sound. "I knew you would never step down. You have waited for this chance all your life. But I never figured the Prince of Dol Amroth for a traitor."

Faramir released his father's arm and strode rapidly to the door, pulling it open. "It would be wise for you to leave my presence before we both say something we will be unable to take back. I have no designs upon your Stewardship; however, I shall not put the White City at the mercy of a man who is capable of raping his future daughter-in-law. She is not much more than a child; you stole her innocence and took that which my brother should have. It was an unspeakable display of violence and immorality."

Denethor gave a strangled cry and lurched toward his son. Then, with a great effort, he brought himself under control before managing to utter a few strangled words. "I was not responsible for that. Never have I harmed a woman. Boromir will not hold this against me. He is a true and loving son, unlike you."

"I have always loved you, Father, though you have never returned that love. And, even though you perpetrated so heinous a crime, I still love you. I am not certain, however, that I much like you." Denethor walked heavily toward his son, coming to a standstill mere inches from him. 

"I care not whether you like me, boy. I care only that you obey me and show me the respect due your Father and your ruler. We must put the past behind us if we hope to survive the next few months. Sauron may have gained control of my actions for a brief time, but in so doing, I learned things he did not plan for me to know. I _know_ that soon he will unleash his entire force against us. It is doubtful that we shall survive, for they are many and we are few. When we fight for our very lives, it is doubtful that you will care about such trivial a matter as the rape of the Princess of Rohan."

"Once again you misread me, Father. For I shall never forget, or forgive, what you did. For the sake of Gondor, I must bury the feelings of anger and disgust that I harbor toward you. But do not think, for one moment, that I trust you. Now, please leave. I have much work to attend to."

Without another word, Denethor swept regally out of the room. Once he heard the door shut, however, he allowed his shoulders to slump and he leaned heavily against the stone wall lining the corridor. "I was a fool to let myself be used by the Dark Lord. And I am an even bigger fool if I allow this rift to continue between us. Perhaps I should convince Imrahil to intervene in my behalf. I have never been successful in dealing with Faramir. Imrahil may not like me, but he is a wise man. He will see the need for peace among us." Drawing himself up to his full height, Denethor swept down the corridor toward the map room and his dead wife's brother.

* * * * * * * * *

The Prince of Dol Amroth was enjoying the quiet of Denethor's map room. He liked the musty smell of old parchment and the rows of colorful maps wrapped tightly about long wooden rolls jutting out from the walls. He presently was studying the map that detailed the area surrounding Rohan and Isengard. Saruman's lair, as Imrahil liked to think of it, was nestled at the foot of the White Mountains near the Gap of Rohan and the Fords of Isen. It was a long march from Minas Tirith to Isengard up the Great West Road that ran through The Mark. He did not relish the idea of taking soldiers so far from home. It would leave Gondor vulnerable to attack, and a part of his mind feared that this might be the reason for such an untimely assault on Rohan's forces. 

Imrahil became aware of Denethor's presence mere seconds before the other man spoke. "I hope to find you in a better frame of mind than my son," the Steward said, his voice filled with rancor. Prince Imrahil sighed inwardly and straightened up. He was not really in the mood for a confrontation.

"What is the topic of this morning's disagreement?" he asked lightly.

"I am ready to resume my duties as Steward of Gondor. My fool of a son refuses to hear me out. I thought perhaps you, as one of my peers, may be of a more sensible frame of mind. Fighting with Faramir is not healthy for the country, or for our relationship as father and son. You and I must devise a peaceful resolution to the question of who should stand at the helm of Gondor. "

This time the Prince of Dol Amroth sighed out loud. "We discussed this only two days ago. I believe you no more fit to rule today than I did then. There is something about your manner that worries me. I cannot put words to it, yet I feel there is still something amiss. I would rest easier if you would content yourself, at least for now, with working with Faramir and myself."

Denethor had moved to stand at the window overlooking Mordor. His fingers drummed on the windowsill loudly in the silence that followed Imrahil's words. Though he constantly fought against it, he still felt a slight longing when he looked at that cursed land. What it was he longed for, he was not certain. 

"Denethor, is there something wrong?" Ecthelion's son whirled about as he realized that Imrahil was speaking to him. By the tone of his voice, he must have asked a question some time earlier and was worried by the lack of response. 

Clearing his throat, Denethor replied innocently, "I was pondering the threat to Rohan and did not hear your question. If you would be so kind as to repeat it?"

Prince Imrahil was not fooled by the other's innocent look or by the flimsy excuse for his inattentiveness. Imrahil had seen the glazed look in Denethor's eyes as he stared intently toward the land ruled by the Dark Lord. _Ready to resume his role as Steward, indeed._ Aloud, the Prince said, "I asked why you are so eager to take control away from your son. If you are truly concerned that this will come between you, then work with Faramir. Advise him."

Denethor's laugh was contemptuous as he favored Imrahil with a disdainful smile. "Would you share your authority with one of your sons? Would you have some young pup you reared telling _you_ what to do? I doubt it."

Imrahil shook his head firmly. "I would if I knew myself to be a threat to my land and my people. The problem here is that you do not recognize your infirmity. Until you can look at Mordor with hatred as you once did, I will not support your reinstatement as Steward." 

Denethor's icy stare caused the Prince of Dol Amroth to shudder involuntarily. He saw a hint of a smile in Denethor's eyes, as though he relished the discomfort he caused his former brother-in-law. Finally, Denethor spoke: "We shall see what the members of the Council have to say. If enough support my reinstatement, then you and Faramir must step down. Unless it is your intention to start a civil war?"

Imrahil bristled and strode forward until he was mere inches from the other. When he spoke, he drew out each word slowly. "I am not the one who started this. You are the one who invited the Dark Lord into the very heart of Minas Tirith. You opened your mind to him and showed him our strengths and our weaknesses. Boromir is gone because of your recklessness. I pray that he shall return to us, and that your actions have not led to his doom."

Denethor opened his mouth to deny the accusations, but could not speak. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest and he felt as though he might faint. A wave of guilt washed over him so strongly he felt as though he was drowning. Almost he reached out to Imrahil for help, but his pride forbade it. Clasping his hands over his heart, he retreated from the room, leaving the Prince of Dol Amroth staring worriedly after him.

* * * * * * * * *

The Princess of Rohan was weaving a layette for her unborn child. She was sitting at a loom that had been placed upon the lawn of the fountain. She had not been feeling well for the past fortnight and the Lady Galadriel was worried about her health. Eledwhen was pale and suffered from occasional abdominal pains. The Elf did not want to alarm the girl, but she feared for the baby. The signs were not good. She had ordered the Princess to go outside and enjoy the fresh air. Now Eledwhen concentrated fretfully over the tedious work required in coaxing the delicate threads into wearable garments.

"It is good to see you again, your Highness." Haldir had materialized before the loom as though by magic. Eledwhen jumped, and the tip of the spindel pricked her finger, drawing a few drops of blood. The Elf rushed to her side and knelt, taking her delicate hand within his. The redness of her blood looked alien next to the paleness of her skin. "Here, let me take care of this," Haldir said gently. Eledwhen pulled her hand away and bolted to her feet. She looked as though she would burst into tears. "What is wrong, Princess?"

The girl's wide blue eyes spoke words her voice could not utter. She reached for the Elf only an instant before she fainted. Dark red blood seeped into the earth beneath her still form.

****

To be continued


	13. A Dish Best Served Cold

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

This chapter begins the telling of events in Rohan taking place at approximately the same time that Boromir becomes part of the Fellowship. It explores the role Grima Wormtongue plays in Eomer's rise to King of the Mark. Notice that I use some of Tolkien's descriptions of Rohan and Edoras. It is necessary for accuracy (better late than never). I will include subsequent chapters about Rohan as the Fellowship continues its mission.

Adara's standard disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am not making any money off of them. Wouldn't do anyone any good to sue me anyway, since the only thing I own of value is my horse, Dylan. He's a good horse, but you wouldn't make much money from his sale. Thanks to Tolkien for his wonderful imagination.

A Dish Best Served Cold

Prince Theodred had ridden many leagues since passing through the Gap of Rohan. He and two of his most trusted captains were returning from a visit to Ithilien where, during a secret meeting with the Acting Steward of Gondor, he had discussed the growing peril from both Mordor and Isengard, and how the two nations could help one another. The meeting was especially important since the marital alliance sought by Theoden King and Faramir's father had, to put it mildly, not come to fruition.

Theodred had met in secret with Faramir, in Ithilien, because he did not want his father or his father's chief counselor to know about the mission. If the meeting became public knowledge, Grima Wormtongue would probably charge him with plotting to overthrow the crown. Which was ironic, since that is exactly the charge Faramir's father leveled against the Prince during the Rohirrim's disastrous stay in Minas Tirith. 

The meeting had been mostly positive, with Faramir assuring Theodred that the Prince of Dol Amroth and Denethor seemed to be leaning toward sending Gondorian troops to reinforce the horse-lords. The Prince of the Mark had been unable, unfortunately, to assure Faramir that his father would let Gondor's troops step onto Rohirrim soil. The impetus behind the hastily arranged meeting with Gondor's Acting Steward was the sudden deterioration of the King's health. Theoden had returned from Gondor a changed man, sapped of all vitality and the desire to rule. He became reclusive and few saw him other than Wormtongue, who had taken advantage of the old man's rapidly declining health to set himself up as a sort of "king behind the King." It was Grima who now set military policy, and every officer in the Mark loyal to Prince Theodred was shouting (privately) for the counselor's blood. It was becoming impossible to protect Rohan because nobody was allowed to make a decision in the field; everything had to be brought before Wormtongue for approval. No one dared make a decision on his own for fear of imprisonment or worse.

__

Grima has the King under some sort of spell, for Father refuses to listen to anything I say. _I will have to deal with this Worm before Rohan is destroyed_. Putting heels to his mount, the Prince surged forward at a swift canter. 

* * * * * * * * *

Night was slowly fading and the dawn fast approaching. Exhausted from many sleepless nights, Prince Theodred rubbed his reddened eyes and blinked rapidly as the light of dawn rose in the East. As the shadows withdrew, the black walls of the Emyn Muil far away upon their left became visible. The Prince studied them balefully before turning his eyes toward home. He could make out the stream that issued from the dale, and far away he caught a glimmer of gold. _Edoras_, he thought with a mixture of gladness and despair, wondering what he would find upon his return.

The trio was riding into a wide glen located within the vales of the mountains of the South when a lone figure came riding toward them at full gallop. His horse was lathered in sweat and slavering heavily at the bit. Just before reaching the group, the soldier pulled back hard upon the reins, causing the gray gelding to nearly skid into the foremost horse and rider.

"What is wrong with you? Have you no sense?" Hama, captain of the King's guard, was seething, for it was he and his mount that had been nearly overrun. 

"The Prince! I have an urgent message for Prince Theodred." The messenger's face was sweaty and dirt-smudged. For a moment, the only sound was the labored breathing of the overheated horse. 

Prince Theodred urged his mount forward until he was alongside the rider. "Who sends this message?"

"The Lady Eowyn. Cold as ice she was when she bid me find you with all possible haste. She made it plain I was to reach the royal party _before_ it entered Edoras."

Theodred nodded. "You have served the Lady well, since we are still at least three leagues from that city. What says my cousin?"

The rider leaned forward conspiratorially so his words would reach Theodred's ears alone. "Your cousin bid me say only this_. Tell the Prince to watch his back. There is evil afoot._"

Theodred scowled. "Did she say aught else?"

"Nay, my Prince. She would say no more. But the Lady was insistent that I remain with her cousin until he reached the Golden Hall. If anything happens to you, I am certain I shall become the scapegoat." 

Theodred smiled thinly at the messenger for his poor attempt at humor and sat back in the saddle, pondering his cousin's words carefully for the meaning behind them. Hama's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Is something amiss, my Prince? Are we in danger?" The old soldier spoke barely above a whisper.

Keeping his own voice low, Theodred replied, "I do not know. Eowyn sent a cryptic message for my ears alone. She hints at some danger to my Royal person." 

Hama clearly was not amused by the Prince's attempted humor. He looked about sharply, as though expecting an army of orcs to attack. "Then we must be on our guard until we reach Edoras, for the Lady Eowyn is not one to raise an alarm without good cause." 

* * * * * * * * * 

The company rode swiftly up the wide rutted track that led to Rohan's chief city. Still, it was almost noon when the three companions cantered into Edoras. They were edgy and tense. As they approached Meduseld, a woman dressed entirely in white stepped out of the shadows. The wind whipped her plain raiment about her slender form as she watched the men approach. 

Prince Theodred urged his mount forward and the other two riders parted to let him pass. He reined his mount to a stop, dismounted quickly, and fairly flew up the steep steps to where Eowyn stood on the paved terrace at the stair's head. As he drew abreast of the woman, he gripped her arm to pull her next to him. "Eowyn, what is wrong? What danger…" Her sharp hiss warned him to silence mere seconds before he saw the man who had just emerged from Meduseld. Grima Wormtongue bowed respectfully.

"My Lord Prince, we have missed your Royal presence. You have been gone quite some time and no one seems to know where you had gotten off to." Theodred gripped the hilt of his sword and a deep flush crept upward from his neck to his face. 

"I do not have to ask permission from a commoner to attend to my country's business." Eowyn placed a hand upon his arm to calm him. Wormtongue's smile was oily. 

"You had best mind your temper and show a little more respect. I have the King's ear; he listens now to what _I_ say." Shooting the pair an arrogant look, Grima swept past them, his cloak billowing out behind him as he strode through the great door. Eowyn turned wide blue eyes upon her cousin. 

"You should not have angered him, Theodred," she whispered. The Prince motioned her to silence, staring purposefully at the doorwards. He then took her arm firmly, and both entered Rohan's Golden Hall.

* * * * * * * * *

Prince Theodred paced distractedly before the blazing hearth in his antechamber, clearly agitated. The Lady Eowyn stood near the fire beside a heavy wood table ornately carved with running horses. She was holding a goblet of mead and watching her cousin's nearly frenzied movements. "Peace, Theodred. Sit and drink and, when you are calmer, we can rationally discuss this dispatch. I sent for Eomer so that he, too, may speak his mind." The Prince nodded and walked to where the young woman stood. He took the goblet from her hand, strode to a nearby chair, and sat down heavily before draining the liquid in a single gulp. Eowyn gave him an amused smile and moved to his side. "Shall I refill your cup, cousin?" Theodred nodded in the affirmative. Casually he leaned back in the chair and studied Eowyn closely while she poured more of the honey liquor. 

She seemed somewhat older than when he had left for Gondor as part of the Princess Eledwhen's entourage. Eowyn's lithe body was rigid with tension, and her beautiful face was stretched taut with fatigue. The lines around her eyes and the dark shadows beneath hinted at many sleepless nights. Something clearly had upset her. As Eowyn turned back toward Theodred with the refilled goblet, the door opened and the Third Marshal of the Mark entered. Eomer's glance shifted from his sister to his cousin before he shut the door soundly behind him. "Have I your permission to enter, my Prince?"

Theodred chuckled and reached for the mead still held firmly in Eowyn's hands. "Since you already have entered, why bother to seek my permission? Sort of akin to barring the stable door after all the horses have escaped."

Eomer laughed heartily and crossed to the table. He poured himself some mead, then looked at the Prince, raising an eyebrow as though seeking permission to do so. Theodred shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Why bother with the formalities _after_ you do as you please? If you were not my cousin…"

Eomer quickly drained the goblet, poured himself a refill, and moved to stand before the fire. "It is bitterly cold in these halls. Might as well live in the stables. The horses at least are better company than many of the courtiers who fawn over you and your father. Particularly that Worm!"

Eowyn moved to stand beside her brother. Watching the Prince closely, she asked, "How was your trip to Gondor? Was it fruitful?"

Theodred rose unceremoniously from his chair and began pacing the length of the room. He spoke in clipped sentences as he paced. "The Lord Faramir and I talked endlessly, but it accomplished nothing other than to raise Wormtongue's suspicions. If Gondor's troops are not allowed to enter Rohan, on Grima's orders, there is no point in their coming."

Eomer rubbed his hands together to warm them and then changed the subject. "How have the Gondorians punished Denethor for his actions concerning your sister? I would have killed the Steward on the spot, but the men of Minas Tirith are too civilized for such swift justice."

The Prince froze in mid-stride, threw his arms out to the sides of his body, and shouted, "Nothing! They did absolutely nothing to punish that rapist! Denethor is now Faramir's advisor and his only 'punishment' is that he is not allowed to sit in the Steward's chair during Council." Theodred resumed his frenetic pacing. The room became eerily silent. 

At length, Eomer spoke. "So, Gondor's ruler rapes his son's betrothed and orders the torture of the Prince of the Mark, and he is excused from his crimes because of some fantastic tale of possession. Does anyone truly believe that the Dark Lord wielded control over Denethor's mind?"

"The Gondorians do. You know how the Prince of Dol Amroth was able to convince Father to quietly fold his tent and go home." Theodred stood motionless for a few moments, deeply in thought. Eomer's voice again broke the uncomfortable silence.

"The Men of Gondor would believe such a ridiculous tale. The noblemen of that country are naught but a bunch of over-read ninnies. We shall have to deal with Denethor ourselves. But first we must wait and plan carefully. There will be time enough for retribution later, even if we must wait until after the King has passed over." 

Theodred studied his cousin's face. He nodded grimly in agreement. "Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold." 

Eowyn shuddered slightly at the thought of the two Men meting out Rohirric justice to Gondor's Steward. As much as she hated him for what he did to Eledwhen, she would not wish such a death on anyone. Dragging her thoughts reluctantly back to the problem at hand, Eowyn turned the conversation once more to the reason for her warning to the Prince. "Theodred, you must be careful. We have information that your life is in danger."

The Prince leveled his gaze upon her and she was surprised to see that he was actually smiling. "My life is always in danger. What soldier's life is not?"

Exasperated, Eowyn tried a different approach. "Eomer and I received a dispatch that tells of a _plot_ against you. Someone wants you dead for his own selfish reason. This is not a joke, cousin!" The Prince looked at Eomer questioningly. "What say you? Do you give any credence to this? Who sent the dispatch?"

The Third Marshal stared thoughtfully into the fire before answering. "Erkenbrand set his seal to it; therefore, I doubt not the validity of the information. The dispatch does not include how he came across the plot, nor does it state the reason behind it. Perhaps Erkenbrand does not know. The only reason that makes sense is that someone has a strong desire to be King of Rohan. Yet your death would leave myself as the next in line for the throne, since Eledwhen gave up her claim when she agreed to wed the Lord Boromir. Still, to become King, someone would have to murder not just the Prince of the Mark, but the Third Marshal and his sister and, of course, the King himself. Such a plan is too preposterous to even contemplate, much less warrant serious consideration."

Eowyn stalked to where Theodred stood and gripped his shoulders tightly. Her pale skin was deeply flushed. "You _must_ take this threat seriously! There is one who is cunning and dangerous enough to devise and carry out such a plan. You know as well as I who he is. The man is already pulling the strings behind the throne. How can you possibly doubt that such a thing is possible after your experience in Minas Tirith? After what happened to your own sister!" The Prince gave her a wounded look and abruptly pulled away from her grasp. He began to pace again.

"It is obvious that you believe my father's chief counselor capable of such intrigue, and I fear you are right. However, his hold over the King is unsettling but not, I deem, unbreakable. Even so, if this is Wormtongue's foul plan, then we must expose it; but we first must have irrefutable proof. Should we speak too soon, without proof, the snake will sink its fangs in even deeper. What say you, Eomer?"

"I would counsel caution, but I also would counsel that this plot must see the light of day as quickly as possible. If Wormtongue has indeed contrived the means of your death, we had best find out now, before his plan can be carried to its deadly conclusion. Theoden is failing and all too soon Rohan will need a new ruler. I should not like to become King by default. Especially since I would then be next in line for an assassin's arrow or knife. And, after my death, Grima's henchmen would go after Eowyn, and that I cannot allow." 

Eowyn, who was standing by the hearth, clearly forgotten by the two Men, uttered one of the more colorful Rohirric curses. Both Men looked at her with raised eyebrows. She stared angrily at them, furious at their lack of insight. "Think you, Brother, that the Worm will kill me? I should _be_ so fortunate. Are you both so blind you cannot see what is plainly before your eyes?" Both stared at her blankly. Eowyn swore again in frustration and stalked angrily to the door, pulling it open with such force that it hit the wall. Without a backward glance, she left the room.

"Do you understand her, Eomer? You are her next of kin. What the blazes was she talking about?"

The Third Marshal of the Mark shook his head, clearly perplexed. "Perhaps it is a _woman thing_. I try not to think too closely about such matters. Seriously, we must get to the root of this. If Wormtongue is at the center of a plot to destroy the Royal family, and we expose his plans, we shall finally be able to rid Rohan of his foul presence -- permanently." Both Men smiled grimly at the thought of life without the King's chief counselor. 

* * * * * * * * *

Eowyn moved swiftly down the wide stone corridor leading to her chambers. _How thickheaded Men can be,_ she thought angrily. _All these years and they still cannot see how Master Wormtongue covets me. Am I the only one who notices his sidelong glances and hears the double meaning in the words he speaks to me? How can they be so blind? My brother is a dolt if he believes there is only one way for Grima to gain the throne. _A sound in the corridor caused her to pause. Afraid it might be the King's counselor, she hurried to her rooms, slammed the door firmly behind her and bolted it. Feeling relatively safe, she placed her forehead against the wood door and wept bitter tears. 

Finally Eowyn's tears stopped and she forced herself to walk to her hearth and willed the tension that had been building since Erkenbrand's dispatch had arrived to slowly leach from her body. Once again her thoughts strayed to the Princess. _Oh, Eledwhen_. _Why ever did I let Wormtongue convince the King to leave me behind? For, having lost the most direct route to the throne because of your marriage to the Lord Boromir, the Worm turned his eyes upon me with more than mere lust in his thoughts. Though, in truth, it was most fortunate I remained behind, for I was here to receive Erkenbrand's warning. Eomer was on patrol, and had the dispatch been placed in Wormtongue's keeping… _She shuddered at the consequences to the author of that missive. It would be so easy to kill any of Rohan's warriors, including the Prince and her brother. _Men die in battle nearly every day. Grima pointed out to me only yesterday that death in battle is merely an occupational hazard. Was that meant as a warning? Was that his way of letting me know that if I do not marry him, he will see that Eomer does not survive his next battle?_

There also was the matter of a second letter, for her eyes only, that Erkenbrand had enclosed with his dispatch. If the King's counselor discovered the Captain suspected that the Worm was acting as a spy of Saruman, they would all be dead. Especially since the Lord Faramir had informed Theodred that Gondor's recent dispatches suggested that Isengard was behind the current military threat to Rohan. 

__

I must keep Erkenbrand's suspicions to myself until they can be proven true. He placed his trust in my discretion, and I shall not fail that trust. Eowyn groaned and held her head in her hands. How many worthy men already had died to further Wormtongue's ambitions? She had long ago lost count as, one by one, any who had the courage to speak against the King's counselor fell ill and died, or were hacked to pieces on the battlefield. There were few left to oppose him and, of those few, Theodred and Eomer were the most vocal. _My dearest brother, how could I live if something happened to you?_

Eowyn began pacing slowly as she strove to marshal her thoughts. _Perhaps it is best that Eomer remains ignorant in this matter. Should he learn the truth, he may do something rash. I cannot, by my own cowardice, help Wormtongue destroy my brother. This is a burden I must bear alone -- at least for now._ Feelings of sorrow and helplessness began to overwhelm her senses, and she shuddered violently. Without conscious thought, Eowyn made her way to her cold bed where, too exhausted to undress, she simply lay upon the quilted spread fully clothed. Another shudder wracked her slender body as she thought of Grima's touch upon her face. _Was that really only yesterday?_ _Can Grima truly twist the King's will to his bidding as he claimed? Is there no one brave enough to put an end to his treachery? Will this, in the end, fall upon my shoulders? And they say women are the weaker sex!_

Eowyn sighed and closed her eyes. _I swear on my life that I shall see Grima dead before he destroys my family, or touches me again._ Too exhausted to think any more, the Lady of Rohan closed her eyes and prayed for a sleep that refused to come.

****

To be continued


	14. Song Sung Blue

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

Don't you hate when an author leaves you hanging? Like I did with poor Eledwhen? Sorry, but I do love cliff-hangers. Boromir receives a letter from Galadriel and the Fellowship finally hits the road. I have used Elrond's parting words almost verbatim. Boromir and Aragorn continue to spar.

Song Sung Blue

__

Thrust, parry, feint. Thrust, parry, feint. Damn, I am totally off balance and I have lost my place. Is this where I thrust, or parry or feint, or just run as though Sauron himself is chasing me? The Dunadan must wonder how I ever earned a reputation as a formidable warrior.

Boromir and Aragorn were sparring. It was early in the morning, only three days before the Fellowship was set to depart from Imladris. The Man of Gondor had asked the Ranger of the North to help him regain his stamina. Boromir was afraid that after two months of inactivity he would be unable to defend himself, much less the poor hobbits. Now he was engaged in practice combat with one of the premier swordsmen in Middle-earth and he felt like a rank beginner. It was embarrassing to say the least.

The two men were practicing a simple straight offense, something even a child should have been able to handle. But Boromir was having trouble with his recently healed left leg, which refused to respond quickly to his demands. He had started well in the defensive stance. He did alright with his footwork when he had moved to make the full chop cut, but when he'd slid his right foot forward and to the left to drop his sword down upon his opponent's arm, he'd lost his balance and nearly fallen into Aragorn's blade. At that point the Dunadan had called for practice swords and Boromir had been mortified. 

"Come now, Boromir. No one expects you to be in top form. It takes time and much work to recover from a broken leg." Boromir scowled belligerently at the Ranger. Aragorn was always so annoyingly understanding. He wanted the Ranger to show some sign that he was, well, HUMAN! _Why doesn't the man at least swear once in awhile? His constant politeness is more annoying than any politician in Gondor. Maybe he will make a good King. He certainly has the patience for it._

The two men rested a minute before starting the drill again. Boromir was determined to stay focused and show that he was just as capable a swordsman as Isildur's heir. As the two thrust their practice swords and feinted, seeking to gauge the other's strengths and weaknesses, a shout came from the balcony off Elrond's study. Aragorn immediately halted his attack and looked to see who was motioning to them. Boromir was concentrating so fiercely he did not notice the other drop his sword to his side and look up. He came in swiftly for the killing stroke, moving forward under what should have been his opponent's guard, and thrust his sword toward Aragorn's heart. Boromir's momentum caused him to crash against the other man, and they both went down in a tangle of legs and arms. 

"What the blazes are you doing standing like one of these elvish statues? If we weren't using these fake things, you'd be dead right now. I thought by now you would know to NEVER lower your guard against an armed opponent!" Boromir was embarrassed that he had not noticed the Ranger stop the practice.

"My apologizes, Boromir, but I believe the Lord Elrond requires our presence." Boromir followed Aragorn's gaze to the balcony, where the Lord of Imladris waited expectantly. 

"Just when I was finally getting the hang of this again," the man from Gondor grumbled. Aragorn laughed good-naturedly and placed his practice sword upon a stone bench beside the court. 

"I am fortunate we were no longer using our own swords or that last thrust would have skewered me. I was rather lax in my guard, but I thought you would cease your attack when you saw I was no longer fighting." Aragorn looked at Denethor's son speculatively. _Valar, I hope he was truly not paying attention. I would hate to believe that the killing stroke was wishful thinking on his part._

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir and Aragorn were standing uncomfortably in Elrond's study. To the Ranger's experienced eye, the Lord of Imladris looked upset. "What has happened?" he asked. 

The Peredhil smiled slightly; only his three children and his foster son could read him so readily. "I have news from Lothlorien. I am afraid it is not good." Elrond's gaze strayed to Boromir and remained there. Aragorn noted that Denethor's heir had become pale.

"What news, my Lord?" Boromir felt light-headed. There was no doubt in his mind that the news concerned Eledwhen. The Elven lord handed him a letter, and Boromir took it with trembling fingers. Aragorn looked at his foster father questioningly, but Elrond did not respond.

As Boromir read the letter, his pallor grayed. He backed instinctively into a nearby chair, sat down heavily and continued to read. Finally he looked up at Elrond. "Have you read this?" the man demanded.

"No, but the accompanying letter from the Lady Galadriel explained the need for your return. I shall release you from your promise to be part of the Fellowship if you wish it. One man on horseback can travel much more swiftly than nine on foot."

Boromir stood up unsteadily. "I need time to think. Please excuse me." Elrond and Aragorn watched the man walk heavily from the room. 

"I would like to know what the Lady of the Golden Wood has to say. I would not ask, but it obviously concerns the Fellowship. If we lose Boromir's strength and skills, I fear our journey will be much more perilous." Elrond stood silent some minutes before addressing his foster son's request. 

"Find Gandalf and bring him to my study. You both need to know what has happened."

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir sat in the chair on his balcony, staring sightlessly at the beauty surrounding him. His mind was still trying to come to terms with the letter's contents. _The Lady Galadriel says Eledwhen may lose our child. How can this be? She seemed so healthy when I left. _Boromir read the letter a third time.

"I believe your presence will greatly help my granddaughter's state of mind. Though she has been ordered to bed rest, she continues to fret constantly and I worry for her health and the life of the unborn child. My Lord Celeborn is accounted one of the greatest healers in Middle-earth, yet he is unsure that his skills will save my future great-grandson. Therefore, I ask that you return to us as quickly as you are able. Eledwhen needs you desperately."

Each time Boromir read the last paragraph, he prayed it would say something different. Anything but that he may lose his son. _I thought that leaving her behind would ensure her health. Now it seems my sacrifice was for naught._

Aragorn came upon the Man of Gondor quietly, uncertain that he wanted to intrude upon the other's privacy. Boromir was plainly upset. Softly clearing his throat, the future King of Gondor moved to stand beside the Steward's heir. 

Boromir was hunched forward in the chair, face resting in the palms of his large hands. Aragorn waited patiently for some sign that he should speak. Boromir finally lifted his head and gazed with red-rimmed eyes at the man before him. "Elrond has told you," he said flatly.

"He reported what the Lady Galadriel wrote in her letter to him. I am deeply sorry that your lady is so ill."

Boromir narrowed his eyes and snapped, "My wife is ill. She is my wife." Aragorn blinked rapidly in surprise at the man's angry tone, but kept his features frozen into a mask of concern. Boromir stood up suddenly and walked back into the adjacent room. He was packing furiously when Aragorn finally joined him.

"So you have decided to leave immediately." Boromir stood upright so swiftly he almost lost his balance, as his recently healed leg nearly buckled beneath him. 

"And what concern is that to you? You are not yet my King, and so I do not have to ask 'by your leave' for anything that I do."

Aragorn took a step backward and raised his arms in front of him, palms up. "I am concerned that you may not be strong enough to travel alone. I would counsel that you join the Fellowship. Our road will lead to Lothlorien, and you may find there is safety in numbers."

Boromir drew himself up to his full height of nearly 6 feet. He bristled with indignation. "Are you suggesting that I am incapable of protecting myself? I am not some inexperienced rookie soldier. I am the Captain-General of Gondor's army! I warn you, it is not a title bestowed upon me in name only. I earned that position in combat."

The Ranger's eyes narrowed slightly. "You earned that honor, in part, by the nature of being the Steward's first-born." 

Boromir reached for the scabbard on the bed. "Are you spoiling for a fight, Ranger?"

Before the other man could draw his sword, Aragorn quickly moved to block his action. The two stood frozen, each refusing to back down.

"Must Men always settle their differences with violence?" Arwen's presence caused the two men to immediately separate. Aragorn looked somewhat sheepish; Boromir looked angry. "Aragorn, my love, please be so kind as to leave the Lord Boromir in my care. I fear you are only making things worse for our guest."

Aragorn started to defend himself, thought better of it, and instead bowed slightly to the two standing before him. He left the room soundlessly. Arwen turned her lovely countenance upon the Lord of Gondor. The smile she bestowed upon him was disarming, and his anger melted like snow on a bright spring morning. "I believe it is time for our conversation about your lady love."

Boromir sighed and placed his weapon back upon the bed. He motioned toward the balcony and together they walked into the brilliant sunshine. The man said nothing, so Arwen spoke first. "Do not be angry with Aragorn. He has spent much of his life alone in the wilderness and sometimes forgets his manners. I am sorry to hear about your wife's ill health. Is there something I can do?"

The man shook his head despondently, then moved to stand by the railing. His gaze looked southward and to the east. "I must go to her. It is not right that she bear this alone."

Arwen's tone was soothing as she replied, "She is not alone, Man of Gondor. She is with her grandparents. If the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood cannot help her, there is none who can."

Boromir shook his head stubbornly. "Do you counsel me to hold to my pledge that I accompany the Fellowship, thereby delaying my arrival in Caras Galadhon and leaving my wife with only Elves to comfort her?"

The Lady of Imladris stiffened visibly, though she tried to hide it. "You forget to whom you speak. They are my grandparents as well. The Princess Eledwhen and I share the same blood. Her mother was my aunt and I knew her for more than two millennia. You wound me when you speak so disrespectfully about my kin." Arwen was pleased by the guilt that crossed the man's face.

"My lady, please forgive my unforgivable behavior. I am overwrought with grief. Never would I do anything purposefully to cause you pain or distress. I spend too much time in the company of soldiers and sometimes forget the rules of etiquette my mother tried to teach me. I beg you to accept my sincere apology for my words. They were thoughtless."

Arwen placed a hand delicately upon his upper arm. Her smile was kind. "I know what it is to love someone who is far away. I worry constantly that something will happen to him and that I shall never see him again."

Boromir looked at her closely. "You speak of Aragorn. Will you two wed some day?"

The Elf's face became sad and she turned from him. When she spoke, she sounded close to tears. "My father will not permit us to wed until Aragorn has proven himself and regained the throne of his forefathers. It is my greatest fear that he will not survive the ordeal to come." Slowly she turned back to Boromir and he could see she was crying. "I would feel much comforted if you would consent to travel with the Fellowship. Your presence may make a life or death difference."

The man laughed bitterly and banged his fist upon the railing. The violent outburst caused Arwen to move away from him. "You ask me to protect the one person in the world who can take away my life. Do you clearly understand what you ask of me?"

Arwen's reply was so soft that Boromir had to move closer to her to hear it. "Each Steward has sworn an oath to protect and preserve Gondor until such time as her King shall return. Will you be forsworn?"

"I am not the Steward of Gondor, and so have taken no such oath. You ask me to destroy my family in favor of a stranger." Arwen shook her head.

"Nay, my Lord. I ask that you keep the man I love safe. Aragorn is noble and above all else, fair and honest. He will not take what is yours and cast you aside. He is not like that. If you would but travel with him, by his side, you will see the truth in my words. Please." Arwen placed the palm of her right hand against one side of Boromir's face. Her luminous gray eyes were pleading. 

"You are my wife's kin and so I cannot refuse such a heart-felt request. I will accompany the Fellowship and do my best to discover the qualities you believe make Aragorn deserving of my fealty. But I warn you, it will be no easy feat."

Arwen lowered her head and let her long hair fall forward to cover her face. She was smiling triumphantly. "All I ask is that you go forth with an open mind."

* * * * * * * * * 

The nine members of the Fellowship assembled upon the lawn beneath Elrond's study. Gandalf studied each member closely, hoping to gauge his resolve. "I fear they are none too keen about this journey," the old wizard said quietly to the Lord of Imladris. 

"Are _you_?" he countered. 

Gandalf snorted disdainfully. "A wizard is always ready to undertake any task appointed. I am ready." 

Elrond smiled affectionately at his old friend. His smiled turned into a frown as he watched Aragorn and his daughter say their farewells. _For the sake of Middle-earth, Aragorn must complete this mission successfully. But for my own sake, I dread the outcome. I do not wish to lose my daughter._

Arwen kissed the man she one day would die for and placed her forehead against his. Their hands were clasped tightly together as though each was afraid to let go of the other. Finally Arwen lifted her head and attempted a smile. "Take care of the Gondorian. He has had nothing but bad luck since he became betrothed to my cousin."

Aragorn studied Boromir, who looked rather uncomfortable standing between the dwarf, Gimli, and the Elf, Legolas. "You should be cautioning me to watch for signs that he might murder me -- or take the Ring." 

Arwen frowned. "If that is a jest, it is a poor one. Do not say such things. I feel he is drawn to the One, but that he is a good man and will do the right thing, in the end." Aragorn returned his gaze to the Man of Gondor.

"I wish I had your optimism," he said dourly. Aragorn's gaze shifted as the Lord Elrond approached the rest of the Fellowship. Gandalf was at his side. "It is time. If it is my fate, I will return to you. Until that day, pray to the Valar for me." The two lovers shared a lingering kiss before the man took his place beside Frodo.

"This is my last word," said Elrond in a low voice. "The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid -- neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy, nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need. Go now with good hearts, and may the stars shine upon your faces!"

With Elrond's words still ringing in their ears, the nine members of the Fellowship of the Ring left the Last Homely House. 

****

To be continued


	15. The Long and Winding Road

Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II

By Adara

This is the second chapter where I heard a song in my head as I was writing it. Chapter 14 was titled after a Neil Diamond song, and this chapter carries the title of a Beatle's tune. If I can't have a little fun with my writing, why bother? To maintain the flavor of the book, I have used some of Tolkien's wording verbatim, some of it is paraphrased, and some is original. I am not making any money off of this, so I hope the professor's heirs don't mind.

The Long and Winding Road

The Fellowship had been on the road a fortnight. The four hobbits had been overly chatty at first, but as the days passed, they tired and wasted less energy talking. For this small favor, Boromir was extremely thankful. For the most part he kept to himself, wrapped within his worried thoughts about the Princess Eledwhen and their child. To the other members of the Fellowship he seemed morose and aloof. The future King of Gondor wisely kept conversation with the Steward's heir to a few, but necessary, words. Aragorn and Gandalf knew what haunted the man's thoughts and kept the matter to themselves. 

"Tomorrow we will reach the Hollin Ridge," said Gandalf as he paused to peer at the landscape about them. The weather had taken a sudden change for the better. All nine members of the Fellowship heaved a collective sigh of relief as the wind fell and veered to the south, and the sun began to show as swift-flowing clouds lifted. It was certainly a welcome respite from the past two weeks, when they had been constantly chilled by icy blasts from the mountains in the east. 

"Are we almost to Mordor, Gandalf?" Pippin asked hopefully.

The wizard scowled at the pesky hobbit before turning his gaze back to the land before them. "We shall travel throughout the night and rest in the morning. Do you agree, Aragorn?"

The Ranger had been standing silently beside Gandalf, chewing on his lower lip. Something was bothering him, but he was unable to put a name to it. He felt no threat from spies or foes, yet a growing sense of alarm was building within. Realizing that the wizard was looking at him expectantly, Aragorn grunted. Gandalf nodded, as though satisfied with this "answer," and began walking again. As he prepared to follow, Aragorn happened to glance at Boromir, who was smiling. The Gondorian obviously knew the Ranger had not been paying attention, and that Aragorn had used the same ruse that had served the Steward's heir well during long and boring Council meetings. Aragorn smiled thinly before making certain the hobbits were all accounted for. The little ones, as he had come to think of them, had a tendency to wander off alone or in pairs. More than once he had considered tying them all together and using the horse's lead rope to force them to remain with the rest of the Company. It definitely was going to be a long journey to the fires of Mount Doom.

By the end of the night's march the Company reached a low ridge crowned with ancient holly trees. The gray-green trunks seemed to have been built out of the very stone of the hills, the trees' dark leaves shone and their berries gleamed red in the light of the rising sun. The Fellowship had reached the borders of Hollin, some forty-five leagues (as the crow flies) from Rivendell. "I believe we shall camp here, and not just for today," said Gandalf. "We all could use an extra day of rest." 

The members of the Fellowship flung their packs onto the ground and threw themselves upon them. For once the hobbits were too exhausted to eat and fell asleep as soon as their heads touched their bedrolls. Boromir walked to a large tree and sank down in front of it, resting his sore back against its stout trunk. He partially closed his eyes and watched the wizard and Aragorn as they stood together discussing something. _I tire of their superior attitudes. They may know the lie of the land but I, too, possess a fair knowledge of woodcraft; yet they ignore me as though as I am not a member of this Fellowship._

"I sense that you are no more enamoured of our guides than am I," said Gimli as he shook out his bedroll. Boromir looked up at the dwarf. 

"They seem to know where they are going," he said neutrally.

Gimli uttered a muted harrumph before gingerly lowering his bulk onto the bedroll. "I know where I would like them to go, but they say they know best as to which road we should take. I thought we were all in this together. Who died and made Aragorn king?"

Boromir gaped at the dwarf, a look of disbelief on his tired face. Had the dwarf really made that crack about Aragorn? What did he know about the two men's disagreements? Boromir started to question Gimli about the meaning behind his words, but the dwarf already was snoring. _Perhaps I am not the only one who objects to the Ranger treating us all as children or, rather, hobbits. _Taking another long, hard look at the sleeping dwarf, Boromir closed his eyes and soon fell into a restless slumber. 

* * * * * * * * *

Boromir awakened two hours later. Something had disturbed his sleep. Sam and Aragorn were sitting beside the fire, presumably on watch. The Ranger had his head cocked slightly to one side as though listening to something. _What is he listening to? This place is as silent as the tombs of Rath Dinen._ Hastily Boromir rose to his feet as the meaning of what he had just thought sunk in. "Aragorn," he hissed.

Even as the Man of Gondor spoke, Aragorn grabbed Sam and hauled him into the shade of a holly bush. Boromir immediately joined them for he, too, had seen the birds. They were flying low and straight toward the ridge upon which they camped. The three did not stir until the sky was clear again, then Aragorn hurried to awaken Gandalf.

"Regiments of black crows are flying over the land between the mountains and the Greyflood," Aragorn said grimly. "They are not natives here; they are _crebain_ out of Fangorn and Dunland. I think they are spying out the land. We should move again this evening; Hollin is no longer wholesome for us. It is being watched."

Gandalf nodded in agreement and Sam groaned. He had been looking forward to another day's rest and a hot meal. Strider's decision that there would be no more fires depressed him. It wasn't natural for a hobbit to live on so sparse a diet, with only cold rations at hand. "Get some sleep while you can, Sam. I shall stand the watch." The hobbit glowered at Strider before shuffling off to where Frodo lay sleeping. "My master needs a hot meal, he does," Sam muttered under his breath. Throwing one last heated look at Aragorn, he settled down for a much-needed nap.

Boromir did not feel like sleeping, so he joined the Ranger by the remains of the now extinguished fire. For several minutes the two remained silent. Aragorn finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "I sense you are angry or displeased with our decision to move on." Boromir gave him a scathing look.

"_Our_ decision? Since when have I been included in any decisions? No one asks my opinion about anything. I might as well not even be here."

Aragorn looked at the other man thoughtfully. "Why did you decide to come with us instead of taking a horse and riding ahead to the Golden Wood?" Boromir looked uncomfortable. Finally he shrugged.

"I promised the Lady Arwen that I would look after you." He looked directly at Aragorn, a smile on his face. 

The Ranger's jaw dropped and he groped to find words to fling back at the Gondorian. "I do not need to be looked after, and I do not believe that the Evenstar solicited your aid in keeping me alive. I have done well enough looking after myself for several decades!"

Boromir chuckled. "Believe what you will. The Lady Arwen is now my kin and, as my kinswoman, she asked me to help keep you safe. That I swore I would do. Otherwise, I would now be with my wife." The man's gaze became unfocused and he looked in the direction of Lothlorien.

"I am sorry. I should not have lost my temper. I hope you find that all is well when we reach Caras Galadhon." Aragorn placed one hand lightly upon the other's shoulder. Boromir did not withdraw from the touch, but seemed to welcome the comfort it offered. The two men remained companionably silent the rest of the watch.

* * * * * * * * *

Each member of the Fellowship was tired and dejected. They had attempted to cross the mountains via the Redhorn Gate. They were prepared for the cold; they were totally unprepared for the wrath of Caradhras. Even though it was the 11th of January, neither Aragorn nor Gandalf had been prepared for the unrelenting blizzard that nearly froze the hobbits to death. If not for the two doughty men, the entire Company might have been lost and the doom of Middle-earth sealed. 

For once, Boromir's advice had been heeded and the Company had gathered faggots of wood for fire before attempting the pass. When they became buried by falling snow, Gandalf had still argued against the folly of openly giving away their location. However, once the choice became death or fire, the wizard reluctantly sparked the blaze and they survived. Now, as they huddled together discussing the next road to tread, Boromir got in one last lick. 

"Any soldier knows that it is better to retreat and live to fight another day than to die needlessly in a battle that cannot be won." Boromir looked pointedly at the Ranger, who had argued vehemently that they continue to try the pass rather than go back down the mountain. If they had followed his advice, all would have died. Aragorn ducked his head and returned his attention to Gandalf, who was discussing their options. 

"The road that I speak of leads to the Mines of Moria," Gandalf was saying. 

Boromir was surprised to hear the wizard name the place. Even in Gondor they had heard terrible stories of ancient perils that walked the mines. He knew Aragorn and Mithrandir would veto anything he said, but Boromir believed he had to try to dissuade them. 

"It is a name of ill omen. I see no need to go there. If we cannot cross the mountains, let us journey southward until we come to the Gap of Rohan, where men are friendly to my people. Or we might pass by and cross the Isen into Langstrand and Lebennin, and so come to Gondor from the regions nigh to the sea."

Gandalf shook his head wearily. "You are a member of the Fellowship and as long as you remain with the Ring-bearer, those roads are closed to you. The Gap of Rohan takes us too near Isengard. And as for the longer road… we cannot afford the time. I deem that we must take the path the enemy will least expect us to take. We must travel through the Mines of Moria."

Boromir shook his head in disbelief. "The name of Moria is black. We might as well knock on the gates of the Dark Tower as pass through the mines." Despite Boromir's protestations, Gandalf persevered and it was decided that the Fellowship would turn south once more. Boromir felt a perverse pleasure in Aragorn's obvious distress. The Ranger also had tried to change Gandalf's mind, with equal success. _At last, something about which we both agree. I hope it is not the last thing we will have the opportunity to agree on. _Boromir slung his heavy shield upon his back and took the rear-guard position.

* * * * * * * * *

Gandalf was staring at the side of the cliffs and muttering to himself. Aragorn was pulling the packs off their pony, Bill, who was about to become orc fodder, in Boromir's opinion. Of course he knew they could not force the animal to enter the mines, but neither did he relish turning Bill loose to become some orc party's next meal. The man was seated with his back resting against one of the bare cliffs abutting the entrance to Moria, (wherever that might be) waiting for the wizard to speak the secret, magic words that would open the door to the mines. Boromir was irritated because the dwarf had no clue as to where the entrance was. Gimli was wandering about, tapping the stone here and there with his axe, and wasting precious time. The weather conditions also seemed to conspire against them, for the air was bitterly cold. 

Boromir looked to where Gandalf stood. The wizard was staring at the blank cliff wall and muttering incantations, or something equally mysterious. Boromir sighed and turned to look at the water in the lake. It had an unwholesome look that made the skin at the nape of his neck crawl. _I should have taken Elrond's offer to lend me one of his horses. I'd be in Lothlorien, warm in a bed with Eledwhen, not freezing my arse off with beings that talk to walls. _Boromir turned his head in the direction of the water and caught a glimpse of Legolas. The Elf was pressed against the rock, eyes shut, as though listening. _That one looks as if he expects the rock to talk to him. The Valar preserve us, for if the survival of Middle-earth resides in the hands of my companions, all is lost._

At that moment, Gandalf gave a cry of surprise. Boromir stood up and walked over to join the others in front of the blank wall. At least, it had been a blank wall. Now he could see faint lines, like slender veins of silver, running in the stone. The pale, gossamer threads grew broader and clearer, until their design could be guessed. Boromir did not listen to most of the conversation that followed, but kept his eyes and thoughts upon the stagnant pool. _Something is watching us._ Boromir involuntarily shuddered and again became aware of the others. Gimli and Legolas were arguing. Nothing unusual there, so he tuned out most of the spat. Their bitter repartee had been going on non-stop since their departure from Imladris. However, he couldn't help but tune in the conversation when Gimli loudly admitted that he did not know the word that would open the door.

"The words that open the door are Elvish," taunted Gimli. "_You_ are an Elf, why do _you_ not know the password?" Legolas looked as though he could gladly gut the obnoxious dwarf. 

Boromir moved closer to Gandalf and asked the one question on everyone's mind: "But do not _you_ know the word, Gandalf?" 

"No! I do not." The Man of Gondor stared at the wizard in disbelief. 

"Then what was the use of bringing us to this accursed spot? You told us that you once passed through the Mines. How could that be, if you did not know how to enter?" Boromir was struggling to keep himself from throttling the old wizard.

"The answer is, I do not know the answer -- yet. Patience is a virtue, one the Steward should have taught you by now. Have you entirely lost your wits? I did not enter this way; I came from the East." Looking at the dismayed faces turned toward him, Gandalf's countenance softened and he said more gently, "I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves or men or orcs that was ever used for such a purpose. The opening words were Elvish, like the writing on the arch."  
  
"What does it say, Gandalf?" Frodo was looking at the door with a perplexed look on his tired face.  
  
"It says 'Speak, Friend, and Enter.' But what the password is I do not know."

Boromir turned away from the Company and walked to the edge of the foul pool. He heard Gandalf "speaking" to the cliff wall in many different tongues. _Have I lost my wits, indeed. _Boromir was becoming agitated and restless. Time was wasting and he had to get to Eledwhen. What if she had lost the child? What if she had died as well? To help alleviate his mounting frustration, Boromir picked up a large stone and cast it far into the dark water. The stone made a loud splash in the silence, and the others quickly turned to see what had caused the noise. Boromir noticed that where the stone had vanished, great rippling rings were forming on the surface and moving slowly to the foot of the cliff.

Aragorn moved to Boromir's side and angrily grabbed hold of his arm. "Do not disturb the water. The Dark Lord's spies are everywhere." Boromir jerked his arm from the other's grip and placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword. In response to the wordless threat, Aragorn rested his hand upon his sword hilt. Both men glared angrily at the other until Pippin cried out.

"Why doesn't Gandalf do something quick? I want to get away from here!" He fearfully eyed the water in the pool, which was becoming increasingly agitated. At that moment, the wizard began laughing.

"It's a riddle. I should have translated it, 'Speak Friend, and Enter.' All I have to do is say the word 'Friend' and the doors will open." He raised his staff, stood before the cliff face, and in a clear voice said, "_Mellon_." Silently a great door was outlined; it slowly divided in the middle and swung outward until both doors lay back against the wall. A loud sigh escaped Pippin's lips.

Boromir bent to pick up his shield; Gandalf began to enter Moria. Both froze when Frodo let out a loud cry. Boromir whirled about and saw what looked like a long tentacle wrapping itself about the Ring-bearer's ankle. In a single fluid motion, Gondor's Captain-General unsheathed his great sword with one hand while pushing Merry and Pippin backward with the other. Sam had run to help his master.

The next few minutes were the stuff of which nightmares are made. The creature began dragging Frodo toward the water, while Sam frantically hacked at the tentacle with his knife. The arm suddenly let go of Frodo and Sam pulled him away, crying out for help as he did so. Twenty other arms slithered from the pool, all moving toward the Ring-bearer; the water boiled and there was a horrible stench. Boromir rushed forward and placed himself between the two hobbits and the nightmarish creature. Several of the slimy tentacles reached for Boromir and he hacked at them with his sword. Gandalf then grabbed the hobbits and began herding them into the mine; Legolas began firing arrows at lightening speed and the dwarf finally stepped to the water's edge. He swung his axe in a wide arc, and blood and tentacles rained down upon those closest to the pool. 

Gandalf had finally succeeded in getting the hobbits into the mine's entrance; turning back toward those fighting, he shouted: "Into the gateway! Up the stairs! Quickly!" Gimli and the Elf began to fall back. Aragorn, who had entered the fray only moments earlier, took one last swipe at a persistent tentacle and began to withdraw. But Boromir seemed rooted to the spot. He continued to fight mindlessly, slicing the arms off the watcher in the water. Aragorn took hold of Boromir's sword arm and yanked it backward, shouting as he did so. "It is time to go! The hobbits are safe. Come on!"

Boromir shook his head to clear the stinging sweat from his eyes and saw that, indeed, the Halflings were out of harm's way. He began to move backward, not daring to take his eyes off his adversary. However, before Boromir could retreat to the relative safety of the mines, the tentacles seethed forward again. Aragorn shoved the other man toward the yawning doorway. "I _said_ it is time to _go_!" he shouted. As the two men began to climb the stairs within the mine, the groping tentacles writhed across the narrow shore and fingered the cliff wall and the doors. Before anyone could think what to do, many tentacles seized the doors on either side and, with horrible strength, swung them round. The doors slammed shut and all light was lost. Standing blind at the foot of the stairs, they heard a noise of rending and crashing.

"We now have but one choice," said Gandalf grimly. "We must face the long dark of Moria." 

****

To be continued


	16. Drums in the Deep

The Power of Love 

By Adara

This is the final chapter of _Paths of Peril_. I invite you to continue on to my third book, _The Power of Love, _where you will find a lot of action and plot twists, plus Haldir discovers he is in love with the Princess of Rohan.

Once again, to maintain the flavor of Tolkien's original writings, I have used some of the Master's wording verbatim. Some of the words are paraphrased, and most are mine. I am not making any money off of this, so I hope the professor's heirs don't mind.

Drums in the Deep

"We now have but one choice," said Gandalf grimly. "We must face the long dark of Moria."

The members of the Fellowship walked single file behind the wizard, who was holding his staff aloft to light their way. Moria was pitch black and eerily silent. As the hours wore on, the silence, more than the darkness, began wearing on their nerves. The hobbits jumped at every little noise made by the Fellowship's passing. 

"Gandalf, how long will it take to get to the other side of the mountains?" asked Merry bleakly. "I do not like this darkness. I feel as though I am suffocating."

The wizard raised his staff a little higher and the light grew brighter. "It will take us four days to pass through the mines and reach the Dimrill Gate on the other side of the Misty Mountains. I believe it is safe enough to risk a little more light," he said kindly. "Is that better, Merry?" The hobbit nodded, forgetting that the wizard was unable to see him. Gandalf looked over his shoulder and saw the diminutive creature nodding his head in the affirmative. He smiled and turned his attention to the narrow ledge that suddenly appeared before him. "This must be where the dwarves began their digging on this side of the mountains. You must all be careful, for this ledge is narrow and treacherous. One mistake and you will find yourself at the bottom of the mines. It is doubtful anyone could survive such a fall."

Gandalf placed a tentative foot upon the ledge, testing to see if it could hold his weight. Finally he was convinced that the ledge was solid and he began moving onto it. Behind him, each member of the Fellowship did likewise. A dim light emanating from far above their position showed them the remains of what must have been a busy and prosperous mining operation. 

"What did your people mine here, Gimli?" Merry was trying to take his mind off the long drop below him. Talking was a hobbit's second best way of alleviating fear; eating, of course, was the first. 

"Moria-silver, Master Hobbit. My people mined for the true-silver that can only be found here." For once, Gimli sounded happy.

"Mithril is its Elvish name," added Gandalf. "Its worth was 10 times that of gold, and now it is beyond price. I heard that Thorin gave Bilbo a corselet of mithril rings worth more than the entire Shire and everything in it." No one saw the surprised expression on Frodo's face. _Dear old Bilbo, always looking after me. I hope that some day I will have the opportunity to repay him for his kindness._

"What happened to all the silver that was mined?" asked Pippin, looking in appreciative awe at the stripped, naked walls and the many platforms that adorned them. 

"The dwarves mined too greedily and too deep, and disturbed that from which they fled, Durin's Bane. All the _mithril_ the dwarves brought to light was taken by the orcs and given as tribute to Sauron, who covets it." Gandalf sighed deeply and continued forward in silence. 

As the ledge became narrower, the dwarf and the two men found the footing increasingly difficult to maintain. More than once, Boromir lost his balance and had to slam his body against the rock face to keep from pitching over the side. He looked ahead to see how the others fared and saw that Legolas was, as usual, the only member of the Fellowship undaunted by their predicament. He was moving along as though on a stroll down the Great West Road. As he watched the Elf, a picture of Eledwhen and Haldir together in Lorien entered his mind and he felt an unreasonable pang of jealousy. _Elves are so graceful and beautiful. How could she not be attracted to them? And Haldir already has earned a place in her heart._ The man tried to shove the worrisome thoughts from his head and concentrate on the path before him. 

"Look sharp!" Gandalf shouted from the head of the line. "There is a break in the rock here and we will have to hop over it. It is not too wide; mayhap no more than the width of two hobbits. Legolas, if you would please move to the other side and help steady us as we cross." Without a word, the Elf moved around the wizard and hopped lightly and effortlessly over the gap. 

"Cheer up. It is not too far to where the path opens into a wide hallway." Having offered these words of encouragement, Legolas reached for Gandalf's arm and helped him leap over the gap in the ledge. The wizard raised his staff and remained as close to the Elf as he could without risking the safety of the others. He did not want to be in the way, but each needed to see the path to safely cross the ruined portion. Once all were across, they shuffled to the wide archway only a few feet farther. 

"Do you know where we are, Gimli?" Gandalf looked questioningly at the dwarf, who was staring about him with a perplexed frown on his face. 

"Nay, this place is unknown to me. I do not remember being in this part of Moria. The air here has a foul smell to it. Let us push onward as quickly as possible to the Great Halls of Khazad-dum. I still have hopes that some of my kinfolk remain in this realm, though that hope grows fainter the farther we go." Gimli became silent and fell to the rear. He wanted to think without feeling that the others were watching him. 

* * * * * * * * *

Several hours later they came to a junction where three huge passageways yawned before them. All led generally eastward, but the left-hand passage plunged downward, while the right-hand passage climbed up. The middle way seemed to run on smooth and level, but it was very narrow.

"Which way do we go, Gandalf?" Pippin was looking at him hopefully; the others appeared uneasy. 

"Whichever way we choose, it had best be soon," said Boromir. "We are too exposed. The enemy could come at us from any or all of these tunnels. What say you, Mithrandir? Which passage leads out of these accursed mines?"

The wizard was looking about uncertainly. "I do not remember this place at all. We shall rest here for awhile. I need time to think." 

Boromir started to protest the folly of such action, but shrugged his shoulders instead. _It is useless to argue with a wizard, for he will always have his way._ Stifling a sigh, he walked to a large rock and sat down upon it. Frodo sank onto the rock floor and propped his back against a boulder only a few feet from the Man of Gondor. Boromir felt suddenly light-headed and heard a ringing in his ears that soon sounded like whispering. He shook his head; it felt as though hundreds of tiny mites were buzzing about inside his ears. 

"Are you alright, Boromir?" Aragorn was standing next to him, a look of concern on his dirty and unshaven face. Boromir frowned to think that he must look much the same. _Not exactly the way I want to look when I see Eledwhen again, _he thought. Tiredly he shook his head. 

"I am fine. You need not trouble yourself over my well being. See to the hobbits if you must mother someone." Although Boromir turned his back on the Ranger, he did not do so quickly enough to miss the look of hurt that crossed the other man's features. He almost turned around to apologize, but was suddenly assaulted by a wave of desire so strong he almost pitched forward. He began sweating and his breathing became ragged. His eyes sought the object of his desire and fell upon the Ring-bearer. He could feel the pull of the One; feel its power passing over his body like a lover's caress. From a few feet away, Aragorn watched him closely through narrowed eyes. His hand fell unconsciously onto his sword's pommel. 

Boromir rose unsteadily, took two halting steps toward Frodo and stopped. He felt crushed between the hammer and the anvil. His chest hurt each time he drew a breath. Then, suddenly, he heard the same voice inside his head he had heard twice before. "Take it, my lord. You know you want it. Its power will grant you all you have ever desired. Power, greatness, the respect of your father… all your dreams fulfilled. All is within your grasp. Take it, take it now!" Boromir let out a loud sob and fell to his knees, arms across his chest. All but Gandalf rushed to his side.

"What is wrong? Are you in pain?" Gimli, who was clueless to Boromir's torment, assumed the man was ailing. Legolas and Aragorn exchanged knowing looks. Frodo looked just plain scared and moved closer to the Ranger.

"I am alright. Do not concern yourselves." Boromir forced the words through gritted teeth. "It is naught but a fleeting pain from an old war injury. It has almost passed. I thank you for your concern." 

Aragorn felt a great sorrow wash over him as he understood for the first time the depth of Boromir's temptation. He gently touched the other man's shoulder and felt a surge of power pass up his arm. Aragorn jerked backward, for suddenly he was deafened by the sound of a thousand voices -- loud murmuring that filled his head. He stared at Boromir and saw him looking at him as though to say: "You see, it is not so easy to resist as you think." Aragorn felt like screaming. His gaze fell upon Frodo, who was staring at him, a look of terror upon his child-like face. 

__

Must not listen to the voices, Aragorn thought furiously as he shook his head much as a dog emerging from water_._ Legolas' concerned voice broke the spell. "Aragorn! What is wrong?" The voices ceased.

The Ranger blinked rapidly and wiped the sweat from his brow with a sleeve. "We should not have taken this path," Aragorn said heavily. "There is death here." He turned slowly to face Gandalf, who had been observing from his perch atop a large boulder. The wizard was taking long, hard pulls on his pipe; his brow was furrowed in consternation.

"We are here now and must make the best of it. Try to sleep. I will take the watches. Frodo, why don't you sleep next to me?" Gandalf shot Aragorn a meaningful glance and cut his eyes toward Boromir. Aragorn spread his bedroll next to Boromir, who had resumed his place atop the rock. Neither said a word. 

* * * * * * * *

Six hours later, Gandalf roused them all from sleep. He had spent those hours smoking and thinking. "I have made up my mind. I do not like the feel of the middle way, and I do not like the smell of the left-hand way. Therefore, we shall take the right-hand passage. It is time we climb again."

The Company spared the time to make a sparse breakfast of cold bread and cheese before moving onward. The hobbits could be heard grumbling about the choice and size of the menu. Tiring of their senseless patter, Gandalf hissed at them to be quiet and the Fellowship continued to climb in silence through the darkness of Moria, with only the wizard's light as a guide. 

Boromir had been ordered to guard the rear. He knew why the wizard wanted him behind the rest of the Fellowship and truly could not blame him. The man was beginning to have doubts about his ability to control himself. The dreams that had come to him previously had been just that, dreams. This time, he had been awake when the desire to take the Ring had hit him like a blow to the mid-section. Perhaps their presence in Moria had contributed to the almost overpowering desire to snatch the One from the hobbit and escape with it down the left-hand passage. _I must not let my guard down. Even were I of a mind to claim the Ring, I would not do so here in Moria. Where would I go? How would I ever find my way to the other side of the mountains, and to Eledwhen? _For the first time, Denethor's son began to doubt his own sanity.

* * * * * * * * *

They had traveled as far as the hobbits could without a rest and were looking for a safe place to sleep when the walls on either side suddenly vanished. They now stood in a great cavernous space that seemed to swallow the small light bobbing at the tip of the wizard's staff. The four hobbits huddled fearfully about Gandalf's robes in the oppressive darkness. 

Sensing their fear, Gandalf permitted himself a soft chuckle. "It seems I made the right choice. We have come to the more inhabitable parts of the mines and should not be far from the eastern side. I deem it is time for some real light." 

Gandalf's staff seemed to catch on fire and a large flame lit the chamber about them. Each of the hobbit's mouths fell open in awe as they looked up at the vast roof far above their heads. Then they looked downward and saw many mighty pillars hewn of stone. On either side stretched a huge empty hall with black walls that were as polished and as smooth as glass. In the blaze of the wizard's fire the walls flashed and glittered. "What is this place?" Boromir asked in a hushed tone.

"This is the great realm and city of the Dwarrowdelf. It once was full of light and splendor; many of our songs remember its greatness." It was Gimli who had answered Boromir's question.

"You are not going to sing are you?" Legolas asked with just the proper amount of mock horror in his voice.

Gimli bristled. "Do you think that Elves are the only ones who can sing? Such arrogance! My folk have immortalized their deeds in song for time uncounted."

Legolas' bright laughter filled the great hall and bounced back off the walls. "I did not say that dwarves CAN not sing. I merely meant to imply that they SHOULD not sing."

Aragorn had reached his limit of endurance. Angrily he shouted, "Legolas, Gimli. Enough! I will have some peace. Both of you find a place to sleep -- preferably as far apart as possible. Sam, Frodo, take your rest near to me." 

As Frodo began to drift off to sleep, he thought he saw a faint glow of light down one of the immense and very dark passages. Oddly enough, the strange light reminded him of a pair of eyes. "It is Gollum. He has been following us since we entered Moria." Aragorn spoke in a soft whisper pitched for Frodo's ears alone. Frodo shuddered and returned his gaze to where he had seen the eyes. Only darkness returned his stare. 

* * * * * * * * *

What remained of the Fellowship was scattered about the Dimrill Dale. The shadow of the Misty Mountains covered them, as though aware of the despair each member suffered. Aragorn had been right; there was death in the mines, for Gandalf had fallen while fighting the Balrog.

They all had nearly been lost when an assortment of orcs, black Uruks of Mordor and one very large cave troll had cornered them in the Chamber of Records. The entire Company fought bravely and effectively, including the hobbits, but Frodo had been speared in the side by a huge orc-chieftain. Although all had escaped, and Frodo had miraculously not been killed, the drumbeats had throbbed and rolled _doom doom_ as they had run to the bridge and their last hope of escape. It was on that narrow span that Gandalf had faced the hideously evil Balrog and fallen to his death. 

Aragorn turned to look back at the Great Gates of Moria. He hated it when he was right, but the wizard had known the risk and accepted it, just as he, too, must accept that the mission of the Fellowship was now his responsibility. Sighing, Aragorn studied each of the seven remaining members. Only Boromir appeared not to grieve. He was standing protectively near Pippin and Merry, but not a tear had he shed. (Perhaps because he was entirely Denethor's son and the Steward of Gondor was none too fond of wizards.) The others were weeping copiously, even as he was.

Finally, the Ranger found his voice. "We must depart immediately. Even though it is just past noon, we have relatively few hours to put as much distance between ourselves and the shadow of Moria. Come nightfall, we will be hunted." When no one paid any heed to his advice, Aragorn hardened his tone and ordered Boromir to start the two youngest hobbits on the road to Lothlorien. A smile crossed the man's face as he realized how near he was to Eledwhen. He was almost cheerful as he pulled Pippin and Merry to their feet and shooed them on their way.

"What's he so bloody happy about?" demanded Gimli. "We have lost a very old and dear friend, and he looks as though he is on holiday!"

Aragorn leaned over the dwarf and said quietly, "Soon he shall see one he loves dearly, and who is seriously ill. Speak no cross words within his hearing unless you wish to feel the bite of his sword."

Gimli dashed away his tears with the back of a gloved hand and tightly gripped the shaft of his axe. "Never let it be said that a dwarf is insensitive to the feelings of others." Legolas stared at him with eyebrows raised and started to speak. A look from Aragorn froze the words on his tongue. Silently the Elf turned toward the Golden Wood.

* * * * * * * * * 

__

Please continue on to my next installment of the Boromir/Eledwhen love story, The Power of Love. When the Fellowship reaches Lorien, the Man of Gondor learns the fate of his unborn son. Thank you for reading my fic, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 


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